Love Is A Sickness Poem by Thomas Lodge
Love Is A Sickness
Love is a sickness full of woes,
All remedies refusing;
A plant that with most cutting grows,
Most barren with best using.
Why so?
More we enjoy it, more it dies;
If not enjoyed, it sighing cries,
Hey ho.
Love is a torment of the mind,
A tempest everlasting;
And Jove hath made it of a kind,
Not well, nor full nor fasting.
Why so?
More we enjoy it, more it dies;
If not enjoyed, it sighing cries,
Hey ho.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/25/2024 12:12:51 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Pls give summary for this poem love is a sickness