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A Hymn to Love...

I will confess

With cheerfulness,

Love is a thing so likes me,

That, let her lay

On me all day,

I'll kiss the hand that strikes me.


I will not, I,

Now blubb'ring cry,

It, ah! too late repents me

That I did fall

To love at all--

Since love so much contents me.


No, no, I'll be

In fetters free;

While others they sit wringing

Their hands for pain,

I'll entertain

The wounds of love with singing.


With flowers and wine,

And cakes divine,

To strike me I will tempt thee;

Which done, no more

I'll come before

Thee and thine altars empty.