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As ships in ports desired are drowned,
As fruit once ripe, then falls to ground,
As flies that seek for flames, are brought
To cinders by the flames they sought:
So fond DESIRE when it attains
The life expires, the woe remains.
And yet some poets fain would prove
AFFECTION to be perfect love;
And that DESIRE is of that kind
No less a passion of the Mind:
As if wild beasts and men did seek
To like, to love, to choose alike.
W.R.
