John Dryden

(9 August 1631 – 1 May 1700 / Northamptonshire, England)

Ah, how sweet it is to love!


AH, how sweet it is to love!
   Ah, how gay is young Desire!
And what pleasing pains we prove
   When we first approach Love's fire!
Pains of love be sweeter far
Than all other pleasures are.

Sighs which are from lovers blown
   Do but gently heave the heart:
Ev'n the tears they shed alone
   Cure, like trickling balm, their smart:
Lovers, when they lose their breath,
Bleed away in easy death.

Love and Time with reverence use,
   Treat them like a parting friend;
Nor the golden gifts refuse
   Which in youth sincere they send:
For each year their price is more,
And they less simple than before.

Love, like spring-tides full and high,
   Swells in every youthful vein;
But each tide does less supply,
   Till they quite shrink in again:
If a flow in age appear,
'Tis but rain, and runs not clear.

Submitted: Saturday, January 04, 2003

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