What perfect Juliet or Mr. Right
Ever drew breath? Trust me in this, my dear.
No sooner do such paragons appear
And sweep us from our eager feet one night
To realms of shuddering bliss and stunned delight,
Than imperfections creep upon the ear
Or eye. Even as longing draws us near,
Some blemish brings them tumbling from their height.
Nor may we leaven heartbreak with surprise.
Who was it placed them on their pedestal
As idols unalloyed? Desire breeds lies
As surely as our own faults fuel its fall.
Though love’s need shuns the thorn of compromise,
Better a flawed rose than no rose at all.