Revulsion

THOUGH I waste watches framing words to fetter
       Some spirit to mine own in clasp and kiss,
     Out of the night there looms a sense 'twere better
       To fail obtaining whom one fails to miss.

     For winning love we win the risk of losing,
       And losing love is as one's life were riven;
     It cuts like contumely and keen ill-using
       To cede what was superfluously given.

     Let me then feel no more the fateful thrilling
       That devastates the love-worn wooer's frame,
     The hot ado of fevered hopes, the chilling
       That agonizes disappointed aim!
     So may I live no junctive law fulfilling,
       And my heart's table bear no woman's name.