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There is danger in love, and it lies in the will
Of one so drunk in the rumored possibility of greatness
Love then gets enlarged and all its bridges burned,
Not knowing nor ever allowing a lesser life resumed;
Yea, I once trod a realm of desires so defined
Where men were perceived as lost in the submission
To love's wildest demands, slaving and encountering,
Only to be strangely cited for gallantry unknown
By a fearsome order completely distant and familiar,
Rising against fortified walls of condemnation.
But let me be drunk in love than sober in safety
Or wade in heaven's marsh than stride in hell's atrium!
For what joy is there in love if it cannot be
Paid in death?—My love is dead until it dies in love!
Why does man favor prosperity over the hope of triumph?—
Would he not court the danger that is love so that
What makes love glorious also befits its pursuit?
And if a morbid fall comes in the stead of glory,
What of it? Tell me love is too small to fight for
And you shall hear the last of it. Love mayn't be all—
But all that one seeks to venture in pure love shall
Withstand all; still love desires all, and shall
Consume even hearts that day and night bleed sulphur,
And in the face of all odds be made complete.
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