Love is a fire that burns without seeing itself; It is a wound that aches, restless; It is discontented contentment; It is pain that unmakes without wounding.
It is ceasing to want what we want; It is a solitary path between two souls; It is never settled in settlement; It is care found only by losing your way.
It is choosing to be imprisoned; It is to serve the victor, the strong; It is knowing who destroys us—and calling it loyalty.
But how shall you kindle your favour In the human heart, that friendship, When Love itself wars so against it?