Nicci

If love's a sweet passion, why does it torment?
 

If a bitter, oh tell me whence comes my content?
 

Since I suffered with pleasure, why should I complain
 

Or grieve at my fate when I know 'tis in vain?
 

Yet so pleasing the pain is, so soft is the dart
 

That at once it both wounds me and tickles my heart

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