GIL POLO.
Love is not blind, but I alone, who steer
My wishes headlong unto death:
Love is no child, but I; who in a breath
Laugh and lament, and hope and fear:
What folly then to speak of “flames of Love!”
Love’s fire from untamed passion springs,
High and presumptuous thoughts are Cupid’s wings,
Or hopes as vain on which he soars above.
Love has no chains, Love bears no bow
To take, or strike the sound, and free:
No power has he save that which we bestow;
A poet’s fiction gave him birth,
The dream of fools, adored on earth
By none except the sons of vanity.