To SycamoresI’m sick of Love; O let me lieUnder your shades, to sleep or die!Either is welcome; so I haveOr here my Bed, or here my Grave.Why do you sigh, and sob, and keepTime with the tears, that I do weep?Say, have ye sence, or do you proveWhat Crucifixions are in Love?I know ye do; and that’s the why,You sigh for Love, as well as I
-Robert Herrick
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