Hymn To Love

I will

With cheerfulness,

Love is a thing so likes me,

That, let her

On me all day,

I'll kiss the hand that strikes me.

I will not,

I,

Now blubb'ring cry,

It, ah!  too late repents

That I did

To love at all—Since love so much contents me.

No, no,

I'll

In fetters free;

While others they sit

Their hands for pain,

I'll

The wounds of love with singing.

With flowers and wine,

And cakes divine,

To strike me I will tempt thee;

Which done, no moreI'll come

Thee and thine altars empty.