Portrait of a Lover

A poem, written upon reading Coleridge's "Love"

When springtime once again returns,
It brings within its train a crowd
Of couples, new and old, in pairs,
with all their murmured vows:

Which passioned horde I must avoid,
For I myself have yet to meet
A mind with which might meld my own
In perfect concord sweet.

Perhaps the picture which I’ve drawn
Too many details crowd within,
And my imagined partner’s form
In being has no twin.

But then the list is not so long,
Nor drawn so nothing can be kept,
Nor is my taste so fantasied
As never mirror met:

He must of everything have read
To follow where our talk may tend,
And yet not proud, but in his speech
All conflict seek to mend.

Good-looking and good-humored, both
A certain given, while in turn,
He must distinguish “you’re” and “your”,
In grammar wholly learned.

Besides these scholar’s attributes
In dancing practiced must he be,
For he who isn’t full of grace
Makes bitter company.

A scholar, dancer, artist, yet
No stranger to his strength’s employ,
And one who all of life’s good gifts
Can cheerfully enjoy.

In short, his temper, habit, mind
Must show the mark of virtue’s seal;
This the image I have sketched,
Portraying my ideal.

If seeking such of Adam’s sons
Or such an order seems extreme,
Remember that a full-bloomed love
Means yielding all of me.

For reason which, my standards raised—
Let reader try to understand—
I hold my heart ensconced until
I yield to worthy hands.

Though not as yet, I still admit
This portrait living I may meet,
And then old words I must retire,
And from my jokes retreat,

No longer laughing at the names
Composed by lovers, unashamed,
Who have no thought for those outside
Their inner ring of flame.

But now, I greet the morn alone,
Save company of coffee pots,
And opening the book at hand
Receive the Author’s thoughts.

As sunlight pours through window panes,
Aeolian servants toss the trees;
A gentle Presence fills the room,
Embrace I cannot see.

Today, He lightly laughing comes,
As if He cannot hide delight
To see my eagerness to yield
My life before His sight.

For all my faltering, He forgives,
In all, more graceful far than I.
No other lover wrests His place,
No mortal man may try,

For though the rest of Adam’s sons
Have goodness, gifts, and grace to give,
My dearest Lover offers all,
So in His life I live.