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Whoso terms love a fire may, like a poet,
Feign what he will; for certain cannot show it.
For fire ne'er burns but when the fuel's near
But love doth at most distance most appear.
Yet out of fire, water did never go
But tears from love abundantly do flow.
Fire still mounts upward, but love oft descendeth.
Fire leaves the midst, love to the centre tendeth.
Fire dries and hardens, love doth mollify.
Fire doth consume, but love doth fructify.
...The powerful queen of love, fair Venus, came
Descended from the sea, not from the flame:
Whence passions ebb and flow, and from the brain
Run to the heart like streams, and back again.
Yea, love oft fills men's breasts with melting snow,
Drowning their lovesick minds in floods of woe.
...What is love, water, then? It may be so
...But he saith true that saith he doth not know.
Anonymous
