By By Robert Herrick
Date: 19 April 2001
To Sycamores
I’m sick of Love, O let me lie
Under your shades, to sleep or die!
Either is welcome so I have
Or here my bed, or here my grave.
Why do you sigh, and sob and keep
Time with the tears, that I do weep?
Say, have you sense, or do you prove
What crucifixions are in love?
I know ye do; and that’s the why
You sigh for Love, as well as I.
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