Poetry Friday - Countee Cullen

"Song in Spite of Myself"

Never love with all your heart,
It only ends in aching;
And bit by bit to the smallest part
That organ will be breaking.

Never love with all your mind,
It only ends in fretting;
In musing on sweet joys behind,
Too poignant for forgetting.

Never love with all your soul,
For such there is no ending,
Though a mind that frets may find control
And a shattered heart find mending.

Give but a grain of the heart's rich seed,
Confine some under cover,
And when love goes, bid him God-speed.
And find another lover.