Love

...

I have seen a love demanding
    Time and hope and tears,
Chaining all the past, exacting
    Bonds from future years;
Mind and heart, and joy and sorrow,
    Claiming as its fee:
That was Love of Self, and never,
    Never Love of me!

I have seen a love forgetting
    All above, beyond,
Linking every dream and fancy
    In a sweeter bond;
Counting every hour worthless,
    Which was cold or free:—
That, perhaps, was—Love of Pleasure,
    But not Love of me!

I have seen a love whose patience
    Never turned aside,
Full of tender, fond devices;
    Constant, even when tried;
Smallest boons were held as victories,
    Drops that swelled the sea:
That I think was—Love of Power,
    But not Love of me!

I have seen a love disdaining
    Ease and pride and fame,
Burning even its own white pinions
    Just to feed its flame;
Reigning thus, supreme, triumphant,
    By the soul's decree;
That was—Love of Love, I fancy,
    But not Love of me!

I have heard—or dreamt, it may be—
    What Love is when true;
How to test and how to try it,
    Is the gift of few:

...

—Adelaide Anne Procter, Legends and Lyrics.