To admire beauty without envy is love:
To lie in the darkened garden to hear the song
Of the unseen nightingale is love:
If you would hold a knife to your heart
To spare another, that is love:
To love is to give everything away for nothing,
To open your house to the dark stranger:
The world is a pit of fire and shadows,
Those who love throw themselves into it wholly:
Ah my heart, only you know best
How love is the mortal flesh burning in darkness.
Murat of Turbansk, Library of Busk
-The Crow
