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The Preacher's Love

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DO NOT LOVE ME YET

     
     
Do not love me yet,
For I am still a slender moon,
A scimitar about the heart
Too sharp to touch too soon.


Before I’m touched I need to grow
More full in golden light;
I need to smile upon my earth
And rule some patch of night.

I need to know what roads and fields
Lie in my domain
And dull my brand new ecstasies
With sophomoric pain.

I need the love of some blank boy
As cold and dark as me,
That we might grope in ignorance
And fear of what might be.

And then, when I’m a silver bowl
And know what I can hold,
Then, then, perhaps, we could try love
If you are not too old.


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