I would there were another name for love,
A name that did not tell such tales of pain,
Like a cracked bell that rings with broken dreams
And little hopes that lived and died in vain.
I would there were another name for love,
That did not tell of passions’ breakages,
And all the murdered beauties of the spring
And all the lost illusions of the ages.
I would there were another name for love,
An empty name unstained with prying eyes,
And pirate lips, and prowling certainties,
The plundered loot of a lost paradise.
I would there were another name for love,
An untouched name, where crumpled innocence,
Scorched by the hot indifference of lust,
Had not been branded by impermanence.
I would there were another name for love,
A timid name, aquiver and unsure,
A name for which no captain ever fought,
A name unknown to any troubadour.
I want a name without a history,
A name that dies away before it rings
In mocking echoes through the caves of Time,
That falls asleep under my whisperings.
The name I want is nothing but a breath
That voiceless fades upon the dusky air,
A name that never sought to catch delight,
And never held the music of despair.
But I have found another name for love,
Though ’tis the name that all the lovers knew,
The oldest name that mortal ever spoke,
The other name for love is simply--you!