Lost Golden Prizes
“from longing for the loves too high to gain” ~ Pindar, Pyth. IV, 92
That man or woman that you wanted so,
So much that swelling of your heart made pain
A palpable impression, caused a glow
Of agony that brought to ribs a strain
That almost held a taste, the flavor of
The greatest disappointments, pumped there in
The nearest marrow, that battering love
Is not the outcome of some little sin.
This kind of love is wickedness, a grief
As great as Lucifer’s. It just can’t get
What it torments itself for. No relief
Will come its way. It harbours only threat.
Such men or women think themselves too high.
Their beauty swerves, too sacred to comply.