Is it, O love, thy want of eyes

Is it, O love, thy want of eyes,

Or by the Fates decreed,

That hearts so seldom sympathise,

Or for each other bleed?

If thou wouldst make two youthful hearts

One amorous shaft obey,

'Twould save thee the expense of darts,

And more extend thy sway.

Forbear, alas! thus to destroy

Thyself, thy growing power,

For that which would be stretch'd by joy

Despair will soon devour.

Ah! wound then my relentless fair,

For thy own sake and mine,

That boundless may be my share,

And double glory thine.