Love till thy leaping pulses faint and fail,
Till whirling worlds and all the woes thereof
Fade into nothingness; till sun turns pale, Love.
Love to the full height, depth, and breadth whereof
Thy soul is master. Let cheap cynics rail;
But hold thou still thy rose-red light above
Their envious heads, who have not strength to scale
The sheer steep heights, whereon Love's lovers move
In calm content, for that their hearts inhale, Love.
the vision through which all error is forgiven—all human deeds exalted.
It is music to those who sense its sweet vibrations.
—A. F. Melchers
- Born on September 9th, 1867 and died on October 14th, 1945
- Was an English author born in India