Love Is A Sickness Full of Woes
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 sighting cries,
Heigh ho!
Love is a torment of the mind,
A tempest everlasting;
And Jove hath made it of a kind
Not well, not full, nor fasting.
Why so?
More we enjoy it, more it dies;
If not enjoyed, it sighing cries,
Heigh ho!
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Poet Samuel Daniel 1562–1619
POET’S REGION England
SCHOOL / PERIOD Renaissance
Subjects Love, Desire, Infatuation & Crushes
Poem Categorization
SUBJECT Love, Desire, Infatuation & Crushes
POET’S REGION England
SCHOOL / PERIOD Renaissance
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