Classic Poem

I.

If 'tis not love , what is it, that I feel?
If 'tis, he's far more mighty , than he's blind!
Whose tickling wounds no suff'rers wish to heal;
Who pains each breast, he strikes, in diff'rent kind.

II.

If good the cause, why the effect so ill?
And why do I, thus torn with grief, remain?
If bad , such torments shou'd not cure, but kill!
Whence, then, proceeds the sweetness of my pain?

III.

If I consent to burn, why do I grieve?
And, if I don't, ah! what avail my tears!
Oh! life in death , how I my will deceive!
And waste my blooming hope, with empty fears!

IV.

Who can define the odd effects of love ?
'Midst stormy tempests, in a leaky boat,
No rudder left, no compass, right to move,
Toss'd to and fro, unknowingly, I float.

V.

Scarce can I tell how I wou'd wish to be!
While rich in health, I pine, and long to die!
In view of death , I struggle, to be free!
I freeze in summer, and, in winter, fry .