| Jessie B. Rittenhouse, ed. (1869–1948). The Second Book of Modern Verse. 1922. |
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| Love is a Terrible Thing |
| | | Grace Fallow Norton |
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| I WENT out to the farthest meadow, | |
| I lay down in the deepest shadow; | |
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| And I said unto the earth, “Hold me,” | |
| And unto the night, “O enfold me,” | |
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| And unto the wind petulantly | 5 |
| I cried, “You know not for you are free!” | |
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| And I begged the little leaves to lean | |
| Low and together for a safe screen; | |
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| Then to the stars I told my tale: | |
| “That is my home-light, there in the vale, | 10 |
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| “And O, I know that I shall return, | |
| But let me lie first mid the unfeeling fern. | |
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| “For there is a flame that has blown too near, | |
| And there is a name that has grown too dear, | |
| And there is a fear …” | 15 |
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| And to the still hills and cool earth and far sky I made moan, | |
| “The heart in my bosom is not my own! | |
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| “O would I were free as the wind on wing; | |
| Love is a terrible thing!” | |
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