Dangers of Love

To Love no more my vows I'll bring,
For Love is such a dangerous thing;
There's poison hid in every dart,
And canker-worms in every heart,
Where Love doth dwell.

I know the little treacherous boy—
Have fought beneath his flag with joy,
Which brought deep grief: I've worn his chain,
And wasted many months of pain,
In his dark cell.

For she who loves bears doom of woe;
Let her not trust the traitor's bow
Which I have trusted, just to be
Pierced through and through with misery,
With misery.

O forest trees! so tall that are;
O dovelet mine! that flies so far;
Would I could fell that giant grove!
Would I could reach that flitting dove!
It may not be!

How idle on a rush to lean,
Though waving bright its stem of green!
For when the noisy tempest wakes,
How soon it bends! how trembling shakes!
And bows its head.

I leaned upon a treacherous rush;—
He turn'd away, without a blush,
To other maids: but I was young—
Truth in my spirit, on my tongue,
Without parade.

O smitten by high Heaven be he
Who gives his love to two, to three!
I love but one—and if he fail me,
O how could other love avail me!
Me—hapless maid!