Upon Love [I held Love’s head while it did ache] by Robert Herrick

I held Love’s head while it did ache;
But so it chanced to be,
The cruel pain did his forsake,
And forthwith came to me.

Ai me! how shall my grief be still’d?
Or where else shall we find
One like to me, who must be kill’d
For being too-too-kind?

See also  My Mate by Robert W. Service
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