Those lovers only happy are
  That still despair.
The restless souls that hope and fear
In tempests live. Each smile or frown
Like surges toss them up and down,
  And if they e'er
Attain the port, they shipwreck there
And sink their love though they escape,
  For beauty shape,
And all those sweets which they before
Did with so much delight adore,
If tasted, they esteem no more
  And once enjoyed
They are no sooner pleased than cloyed.

But he that dares his heart prefers
  To worship her
Whose eyes divine fire doth not burn
But all love into wonder turn.
Blest in his objects glories are,
  And their despair
Secures that bliss from all impair.