POEM. Dear, it is not love, I know, Only longing - let it go; Longing unassuaged will die, And its requiem be a sigh. Only - are you sure your scorn Is not love obscurely born ? If you loved me - very much - Love might waken at your touch. Love is very hard to find - If you only dared by kind, Longing you're mistrustful of Might so quickly turn to love. Give your hands then, and your lips, Far away the whole world slips. Longing ? - Ah, when four lips long, Joy's the tune and Love's the song ! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~