Cruel Love Louise Labe Poem by Tom Billsborough

Such torments, Oh too much of them I smart
And with such menace and approaching ruin
Thinking of death, my mind it doth determine
Nothing else will cure my aching heart.

The more that Love assails us with its power
The more we are determined to recover
As always fresher combats recommence.

It's not for nothing Love will give us favour
It scorns the Gods and mere men together
Strengthening to face their growing force.