In Love

Some say a man in love is at his best,
Say I, we are at our worst.
Whom you may mistake as blessed,
Is, sad but true, merely cursed.

A man in love hath no pride,
For often has he stumbled,
With love there by his side,
That therein is he humbled.

A man in love hath no courage,
His mind plagued by such fears,
That a stout heart cannot flourish,
In fires oft quenched with tears.

A man in love is not his own,
For love doth make us slaves.
He knows not how to stand alone,
Thus wise men turn to knaves.

A man in love hath no wealth.
He would give all for her wiles,
Sacrificing his own health,
If only to see her smile.

A man in love is but a shell,
Consumed in flames he knows not of,
Not from the furnaces of Hell,
But the passionate volcanoes of Love.

Yet I'd rather be led dumbly,
To burn in Passion's fires,
Than to sit here writing numbly,
Of some other man's desires.