‘All things are flux: there’s nothing fast,’
Said Heraclitus, ages past,
And lovers, more than all, must own
The changes they have undergone.
Then let’s not fling at Nature’s moves
Our brave but unregarded gloves,
Nor hope on piteous raft to climb
The Amazonian flood of Time,
But rather face, with honest thought,
The change the passing years have wrought,
Confessing, though the heart may burn,
That what is gone can ne’er return.
Oh when, beloved, shall we tear
The mask of habit, truth be bare?
When boldly strike, as brave and best,
And lay the unhappy ghost to rest?
Oh when put off this creed forlorn,
This institution long outworn,
Resigning with a grateful sigh
The posture of duality?

Richard’s choice

Poems of Love