Jessie B. Rittenhouse, ed. (1869–1948). The Second Book of Modern Verse. 1922.
Love is a Terrible Thing
I
I lay down in the deepest shadow;
And unto the night, “O enfold me,”
I cried, “You know not for you are free!”
Low and together for a safe screen;
“That is my home-light, there in the vale,
But let me lie first mid the unfeeling fern.
And there is a name that has grown too dear,
And there is a fear …”
“The heart in my bosom is not my own!
Love is a terrible thing!”