II

By Marjorie Allen Seiffert

I would make you love me

That you might possess

Desire —

For to your heart

Beauty is a burned-out torch,

And Faith, a blind pigeon,

Friendship, a curious Persian myth,

And Love, blank emptiness,

Bearing no significance

Nor any reality.

Only Weariness is yours:

I would make you love me

That you might possess

Desire.