Revulsion by Thomas Hardy
Winning love we win the risk of losing,
and losing love is as one's life were riven;
It cuts to cede what was superfluously given.
Let me then never feel the fateful thrilling
that devastates the love-worn wooer's frame,
the hot ado of fevered hopes,
the chilling that agonizes disappointed aim.
and my heart's table bear no woman's name.