Poem Oh call it by some better name, For Friendship sounds too cold, While Love is now a worldly flame, Whose shrine must be of gold; And Passion, like the sun at noon, That burns o'er all he sees, Awhile as warm, will set as soon - Then, call it none of these. Imagine something purer far, More free from stain of clay Than Friendship, Love, or Passion are, Yet human still as they. Lovers on Love Posted by: n\a | Rating: 0.00 0 Give your vote +5 Post Comment: Your name: Your Email: Comments :

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