I would there were another name for love, A name that did not tell such tales of pain, Like a cracked bell that rings with broken dreams And little hopes that lived and died in vain. I would there were another name for love, That did not tell of passions’ breakages, And all the murdered beauties of the spring And all the lost illusions of the ages. I would there were another name for love, An empty name unstained with prying eyes, And pirate lips, and prowling certainties, The plundered loot of a lost paradise. I would there were another name for love, An untouched name, where crumpled innocence, Scorched by the hot indifference of lust, Had not been branded by impermanence. I would there were another name for love, A timid name, aquiver and unsure, A name for which no captain ever fought, A name unknown to any troubadour. I want a name without a history, A name that dies away before it rings In mocking echoes through the caves of Time, That falls asleep under my whisperings. The name I want is nothing but a breath That voiceless fades upon the dusky air, A name that never sought to catch delight, And never held the music of despair. But I have found another name for love, Though ’tis the name that all the lovers knew, The oldest name that mortal ever spoke, The other name for love is simply—you!