Love always exceeds its objects br which, however great or beautiful, br are subject to time, decay, and death: br after their brief season in the sun, br they lose their fresh bloom, so magical, br and harden slowly or rot in their youth. br But love remains eternally youthful, br whether embodied as a silly, naked boy br wilfully shooting his invisible darts br at unsuspecting victims, or entirely bodiless, br too subtle to behold, but still quivering br in every heart's secret places. Love is not br subject to us, but we are subject to it: br it changes its objects like soiled garments br or the deathless soul it's transient bodies.