LOVE

Translated from Alfred de Musset, by Sir Tollemache Sinclair. Love, the world's scourge, most execrable folly, — toy, Thou whom so frail a tie unites to sensual joy, Whilst by so many other links thou'rt bound to grief, It by the eyes of some quite heartless woman- thief. Thou should'st invade my breast and poison all my soul, As from a wound a knife one snatches whence drops roll, Rather than like a coward one should hear me whine, I'll pluck it out though, I might die, and ne'er repine.