Classic Poem

O woe is me, my heart is sad,
For I should never know
If Love came by like any lad,
Without his silver bow.

Or if he left his arrows sharp
And came a minstrel weary,
I'd never tell him by his harp
Nor know him for my dearie.

" O go your ways and have no fear,
For though Love passes by,
He'll come again a hundred times,
Before your turn to die. "