Sign in to follow this  
Classified

The Ring of the Dove

Recommended Posts

True love is not a flower

That springeth in an hour;

Its flint will not strike fire

At casual desire.

 

Love is an infant rare

Begotten, slow to bear;

Its lime must mingle long

Before its base is strong.

 

And then not soon will it

Be undermined, and split;

Firm will its structure stand,

Its fabric still expand.

 

This truth is readily

Confirmed, because we see

That things too quickly grown

Are swiftly overthrown.

 

Mine is a stubborn soil

To plough with arduous toil,

Intractible indeed

To tiller and to seed.

 

But once the roots begin

To strike and thrive therein,

Come bounteous rain, come drought,

The lusty stem will sprout.

 

- Ibn Hazam

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Join the conversation

You can post now and register later. If you have an account, sign in now to post with your account.

Guest
Reply to this topic...

×   Pasted as rich text.   Restore formatting

  Only 75 emoji are allowed.

×   Your link has been automatically embedded.   Display as a link instead

×   Your previous content has been restored.   Clear editor

×   You cannot paste images directly. Upload or insert images from URL.

Sign in to follow this