To -

ONE word is too often profaned
For me to profane it,
One feeling too falsely disdain'd
For thee to disdain it.
One hope is too like despair
For prudence to smother,
And pity from thee more dear
Than that from another.

I can give not what men call love;
But wilt thou accept not
The worship the heart lifts above
And the Heavens reject not:
The desire of the moth for the star,
Of the night for the morrow,
The devotion to something afar
From the sphere of our sorrow? - P.B.Shelley

The beautiful poem is all time favourite of mine since my schooling days. The poem reflects the idealistic philosophy of poet for the word "Love". Poet know's he cann't get his love. It is like moths desire to reach sky or the night (darkness) craving for light. Still he loves like a worship which even heaven cann't reject. Its like striving after unattainable. Soo romantic. This reminded me of my friend Rishi telling with his peculiar tone, If someone loves us, we are lucky that we are "lovable". To accept his/her love is a different thing.