(1562 - 1620 / England)

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 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!

by Samuel Daniel

Comments (9)

A plant that with most cutting grows, Most barren with best using. Cannot imagine a better simile then that for defining the magnitude of loves woes.
More we enjoy it, more it dies; If not enjoy'd, it sighing cries- Heigh ho! a different view of a love experience. tony
Love and art! ! ! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
A plant that with most cutting grows.........heigh ho......
love is a sickness! yeah; its medicine is only LOVE!
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