Is Love A Fancy, Or A Feeling? by Hartley Coleridge

Is Love A Fancy, Or A Feeling?

Is love a fancy, or a feeling? No.
It is immortal as immaculate Truth,
'Tis not a blossom shed as soon as youth,
Drops from the stem of life--for it will grow,
In barren regions, where no waters flow,
Nor rays of promise cheats the pensive gloom.
A darkling fire, faint hovering o'er a tomb,
That but itself and darkness nought doth show,
It is my love's being yet it cannot die,
Nor will it change, though all be changed beside;
Though fairest beauty be no longer fair,
Though vows be false, and faith itself deny,
Though sharp enjoyment be a suicide,
And hope a spectre in a ruin bare.
--Hartley Coleridge

Here's another sonnet about true love lasting forever. I think it's interesting sometimes to look at a bunch of things I've collected, seemingly at random, because I liked each one independently, then when they're arranged together in a new way, I find a theme I wasn't aware of before.

There have been sonnets written about every topic under the sun -- and some about the sun itself, too. When I was choosing poems to put on my list of possible posts, I didn't feel the need for sonnets about kisses, or the moon, or somebody's eyes, or the fickleness of a lady. What I needed were sonnets about how true love would last forever. It's not hard to see what this says about me, but it is interesting. I wonder if I would have chosen the same poems ten years ago, or ten years from now.