Love Is a Sickness lyrics
by Hubert Parry
Love is a sickness full of woes
All remedies refusing;
A plant that most with cutting grows
Most barren with best using
Why so?
More we enjoy it, more it dies;
If not enjoy'd, it sighing cries --
Heigh ho!
Love is a torment of the mind
A tempest everlasting;
And Jove hath made it of a kind
Not well, nor full, nor fasting
Why so?
More we enjoy it, more it dies;
If not enjoy'd, it sighing cries --
Heigh ho!