Classic Poem

Merciless Love, whom nature hath denied
The use of eyes, lest thou shouldst take a pride
And glory in thy murthers:
Why am I

That never yet transgress'd thy deity,
Never broke vow, from whose eyes never
Flew disdainful dart,
Whose hard heart none e'er slew,
Thus ill rewarded?

Thou art young and fair,
Thy Mother soft and gentle as the air,
Thy holy fire still burning, blown with prayer.
Then, everlasting Love, restrain thy will,
'Tis god-like to have power, but not to kill.