by Luis G. Dato
O let it be as your heart shall desire.
No words between us, not the barest sign
Of your kind love, the sweetest, most divine
That puts upon my breast a sword of fire
And wings of fancy to my anguished lyre,
Seeing that one I need cannot be mine,
Forbidden flowers, the flavor of love’s wine,
Nor why forbidden never to inquire.
So be it, but think you not e’er, my dear,
That here is hardly wisdom, seed of truth,
Are not such standards, mores too severe,
Was this the price that Boaz paid for Ruth?
Were it not best that I to you came near,
And from your heart know of the wine of youth?
