“To a Young Poet” by Celia Dropkin
So what if you analyze things deeply?
Your heart, your heart sleeps.
And if, when he came, you looked
at him clearly, as a son—so what?
You must burn in hell
three times, like me, in a fire
of love burn long and slow.
You must be purified in hell
three times, like me. You must love
without reason of pride; you must
love to death. Then, when you
acknowledge the death in love,
write love poems.