Why fails love to be content unto itself?

 

To have loved is to have loved.

 

From what anxiety does the source

 

Of some sore heart's fretting spring

 

To find itself alone in multiplying passions?

 

Love's esoteric diet is itself lavishly returned.

 

Vacant partitions tailored to requitement

 

Burn and waste away when devoid of their purpose,

 

Overwhelmed by desolate starvation amidst their desire.