by Robert Herrick (1591 - 1674)

Language: English 
I held Love's head while it did ache;
But so it chanced to be;
The cruel pain did his forsake,
And forwith came to me.

Ay me! how shall my grief be stilled?
Or where else shall we find
One like to me, who must be killed
For being too too kind?

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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 8
Word count: 52