Love
Love is a sickness full of woes
From Lyra Elegantiarum, ed. Frederick Locker (London: E. Moxon, 1867)
Love
Love is a sickness full of woes.
All remedies refusing;
A plant that most with cutting grows.
Most barren with best using.
Why so?
More we enjoy it, more it dies.
If not enjoy'd, it sighing cries
Heigh-ho!
Love is a torment of the mind,
A tempest everlasting;
And Jove hath made it of a kind
Not well, nor full, nor fasting.
Why so?
More we enjoy it, more it dies;
If not enjoy'd, it sighing cries
Heigh-ho!
Cite this poem
MLA
Daniel, Samuel. “Love is a sickness full of woes.” Poetry Codex, poetrycodex.com/poem/daniel/68/.
Chicago
Daniel, Samuel. “Love is a sickness full of woes.” Poetry Codex. https://poetrycodex.com/poem/daniel/68/.
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