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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 sickness full of woes, All remedies refusing; A plant that with most cutting grows, Most barren with best using |
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Love is a trap. When it appears, we see only its light, not its shadows. |
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Love is a universal migraine / A bright stain on the vision / Blotting out reason. |
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