Love Is A Sickness

Love is a sickness full of woes,
All remedies refusing;
A plant that with most cutting grows,
Most barren with best using.
Why so?
More we enjoy it, more it dies;
If not enjoyed, it sighing cries,
Hey 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 enjoyed, it sighing cries,
Hey ho.

by Thomas Lodge

Comments (5)

Max this is wonderful. So clear and uncluttered with a smiling self deprecation that is very appealing. I love your poetry. It says so much about you. love, Allie xxxx
That which sprouts induces sleep and then this, enjoyable piece!
This is great Max. In itself an epic. It is the type of works that attracted me to you in the begining. You have certainly trimmed down your approach and, in doing so, have found a stronger voice. This is a great example of that.
It's easy, you're drunk, you have short-term memory loss, I have both off these, , , Great Poem.. Colin J...
Oh Max this sou resounds! I do the same of course. Internally an epic going on (though there is always the distinct possibility that it might have turned out as sheer crap) . And then the messages.... yep..... all those tossed around lines of a few moments ago lost into oblivion. Love it. t x