Love reigns the lord of every mortal heart;
He wounds the beggar, wounds the king,
And is the fairest, falsest thing,
That e'er excited joy, or bade a bosom smart.
Light as the wind, rough as the wave,
He's both a tyrant and a slave;
A fire that freezes, and a frost that's hot,
A bitter sweet, a luscious sour,
Wretched is he who knows his pow'r,
But far more wretched still is he who knows it not.
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