To a Lady, Desiring to Know, What Love Was Like

Love is a treacherous heat, a smothering spark,
Blown up, by children's breath, who shun the dark:
At first, the fire is innocently bright,
Glows gently gay, and scatters warm delight:
But left, neglected, and unquench'd, too long,
The nourish'd flame grows terrible and strong;
'Till, blazing fierce, it spreads on every side,
And burns its kindler, with ungrateful pride,
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