Why do I love thee, thou joy-filléd love
Though with thorns and thistles hidden throughout
My scallop’d rose, my sweetest turtle-dove
Of spurious fancy and purest doubt?
I love thee for the many ways you choose
To haunt and vex me, shame and perplex me
And if your love became a gallows’ noose
I would gladly climb the box and hang me
Upon it. I love thee for the laughter
And the tears for you shed upon my bed
Pool’d until fit to rival sea-water
Like the absurdity of passions dead.
Wild and untaméd are my thoughts of you;
Breaking and making are what lovers do.