However, I respectfully suggest that it may be possible to capture love (momentarily and evanescently) in a four-line poem.
Stanley Spencer, "The Ferry Hotel Lawn, Cookham" (1936)
The Wind in the Tree
She has decided that she no longer loves me.
There is nothing to be done. I long ago
As a child thought the tree sighed 'Do I know
Whether my motion makes the wind that moves me?'
F. T. Prince, Poems (1938).
"Englefield House, Cookham" (1951)
The following is my humble contribution to the genre of the four-line lost love poem.
The Land with Wind in the Leaves
Distance cannot remove me from that place.
I stand half a world away and here it is:
A green sway and roar -- blue, vast, open
And refusing always to let me depart.
Yorkshire 1987 -- Tokyo 1992
sip (Tokyo/Seattle 1992).
I wish to strongly emphasize: it does not, of course, hold a candle to "The Wind in the Tree." But, to borrow from Louis MacNeice ("Star-gazer"): "To me if to no one else the [subject] is of some interest." I wrote the poem before I encountered "The Wind in the Tree."
And that's all I have to say about that.
Stanley Spencer, "Garden at Whitehouse, Northern Ireland" (1952)