FEAR to love you, Sweet, because
Love 's the ambassador of loss ;
White flake of childhood, clinging so
To my soiled raiment, your shy snow
At tenderest touch will shrink and go.
Love me not, delightful child,
My heart, by many snares beguiled
Has grown timorous and wild.
It would fear thee not at all,
Wert thou not so harmless-small.
Because thy arrows, not yet dire,
Are still unbarbed with destined fire
I fear thee more than if thou stood
Full-panoplied in womanhood.