Philosophy of love is gaunt and gray,
For “days of wine and roses” steer our thought,
Though suffering of love is of the day.

We dwell in conflict ‘twixt theory and play
When, being young and not so wise we plot,
For love’s philosophy is gaunt and gray.

It’s possible to hear young lovers say:
“Ah, I too am a cynic, weary lot!”
Yet know suff’ring of love is of the day.

But they are eager to claim rank decay
And try to be the thing that they are not,
For love’s philosophy is gaunt and gray.

The young have overheard the wiser, fey,
Distill their sorrow in some words sore-bought,
Though suffering of love is of the day,

And aping elders, try to pen a lay
Of loathsome tales of love-hells scorned, and hot,
But love’s philosophy is gaunt and gray:
I’m unconvinced, young love must have its day.