Love is twain, it is not single,

Gold and silver mixed to one,

Passion ’tis and pain which mingle

Glist’ring then for aye undone.

 

Pain it is not; wondering pity

Dies or e’er the pang is fled;

Passion ’tis not, foul and gritty,

Born one instant, instant dead.

 

Love is twain, it is not single,

Gold and silver mixed to one,

Passion ’tis and pain which mingle

Glist’ring then for aye undone.

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