Ah, fie upon the fickle heart of man!
For wherefore do his eyes’ affections change
From face to face through all o’er whom they range,
Shifting without any conscious plan?
It’s littered with dry streambeds that once ran,
Each, deep with floods of passion. ‘Tis so strange
That this part, so decisive, can’t arrange
Its choice (let alone a line that’ll scan!)
The human heart, erratic, has its head,
For no man has the strength to take it in
Until, perhaps, he’s aged well past his prime —
He follows blindly where his heart doth lead
No matter unto where his fancies spin.
(No matter whether he can find a rhyme!)
I’m not sure when during my sophomore year I wrote this, though it was probably during the first semester. I’ve now also posted it to my wiki. As always, any sort of feedback–comments, criticism, compliments, or anything else–is both anxiously solicited and graciously appreciated.