If love's a sweet passion why does it torment?
If a bitter, oh tell me, whence comes my content?
If love's a sweet passion why does it torment?
If a bitter, oh tell me, whence comes my content?
If love's a sweet passion why does it torment?
If a bitter, oh tell me, whence comes my content?
Since I suffer with pleasure, why should I complain,
Or grieve at my fate, when I know it's in vain?
Yet so pleasing the pain is so soft as the dart,
That at once it both wounds me and tickles my heart
Since I suffer with pleasure, why should I complain,
Or grieve at my fate, when I know it's in vain?
Yet so pleasing the pain is so soft as the dart,
That at once it both wounds me and tickles my heart