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!

Read more about Samuel Daniel at Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.

Is it possible
to win back
a lost love?