Love me not, Love, for that I first loved thee,
Nor love me, Love, for thy sweet pity's sake,
In knowledge of the mortal pain and ache
Which is the fruit of love's blood-veinéd tree.
Let others for my love give love to me:
From other souls oh, gladly will I take,
This burning, heart-dry thirst of love to slake,
What seas of human pity there may be!
Nay, nay, I care no more how love may grow,
so that I hear thee answer to my call!
Love me because my piteous tears do flow,
Or that my love for thee did first befall.
Love me or late or early, fast or slow:
But love me, Love, for love is one and all!