Love’s Course
No time to lose, not time to lose,
For either you or me;
No time to beat about and cruise
Across an unknown sea;
To windward lie Love’s peaceful isles,
But rocks are hard a-lee.
Not one may hold the tiller true—
Nor I, nor yet may you—
If we would ‘scape the rocks o’rue,
The best that we may do
Is both to grip the tiller fast
And help to crowd her through.
The peaceful harbor lies ahead,
The goring rocks a-beam,
And coaxing, luring ways are spread
To lure our bark between;
But wreck lurks in each luring way,
And woe ye may not ween.
Who leaves Love’s highway once ‘tis won
May never win him back;
May never, till life’s fitful sun
Sets on his wayward track,
E’er find again love’s blessed way
Amid life’s wrath and wrack.
The meed of coquetry is this:
That ‘neath its luring scent,
Beneath its stolen, luring kiss,
Born of its own intent,
Are dregs that end the days of love;
There woe and cark are blent.
No time to lose! No time to lose!
The course lies straight ahead;
The harbor of the Isles o’ Love
Is for our resting spread;
But one may not hold to the course;
It taketh two, instead.