Whose love is there, to test my heart.
And twist my will to patterned heat
But love of you that from the start
Impelled by sullen blood to beat?
Whose passion there to vex my soul,
And wreck my anguished body-lust,
But love for you that makes its goal
To grind my loins into the dust?
What couplet ends this bitter dirge?
What denouement to this sad cry?
What evil force subsumes the urge
To wish that warmth and fondness die?
This is the final couplet, L —
I love you best. That’s all to tell –