How can I love that which I loathe,
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When sorrow heaves on childish joy?
Is woman, friend, or foe in cove
Of that my heart which saddness toy?
If woman then the vile kind,
Which masks then destroys emotion;
If friend, then of the jealous wind,
With a secret motive notion;
If foe, then as and of the best,
I wait, I yearn, I pace the night,
But can I name you with the rest?
I think not, for I love with might.