Though I am young and cannot tell
Either what love or death is well,
Yet I have heard they both bear darts,
And both do aim at human hearts;
And then again I have been told,
Love wounds with heat, and death with cold;
So that I fear they do but bring
Extreams to touch, and mean one thing.

As in a ruin, we it call
One thing to be blown up, or fall;
Or to our end, like way we have,
By a flash of lightning, or a wave;
So love's inflamed shaft or brand,
May kill as soon as death's cold hand;
Except love's fires the virtue have
To fright the frost out of the grave.