All night I muse
All day I cry
Yet still I wish, though still deny
I sigh I mourn and say that still
I only live my joys to kill
I feed the pain that feeds on me
My wound I stop not, though it bleeds
Heart be content, it must be so
For springs were meant to overflow
Then sigh and weep and mourn thy fill
seek no redress, but languish still
their griefs more willing they endure
That know when they are past recure...
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