O foolish heart, thou fragile thing,
That flutter’d toward a phantom’s wing;
How swift thy hope, how sweet thy fall—
To love, and be the dunce of all.
He smiled, and daylight filled my chest,
A sun that would not grant me rest;
His glance — a flame both soft and dire,
That lit my faith, then quenched desire.
I sat enthralled, the world grew still,
A martyr to his fickle will;
Each word he spoke, a tender knife,
Each silence carved the shape of life.
I wore my trust like borrowed grace,
A jesting light upon my face.
And when he turned, the heavens closed,
My laughter broke, my pulse reposed.
This pointed cap, this paper crown,
Proclaims where dreams were written down;
It mocks the heart that dared to dance,
And named its ruin “sweet romance.”
The hourglass trembles in my hand,
Its sands, like promises, unmanned.
I watch them fall — each grain, each sigh,
A moment’s truth, a lover’s lie.
And yet, I’d choose this pain again,
The sacred wound, the soft disdain.
For better fools in love to be,
Than wise in cold indifference’ sea.
So let them jeer — I shall not move,
For still I kneel before my love.
Though crowned in scorn, in tears I shine—
The dunce of love,
eternally thine.
