I. <br />How I grieve that I am well! <br /> All my health was in my sicknes, <br />Go then, Destiny, and tell, <br /> Very death is in this quicknes. <br /> <br /> II. <br />Such a fate rules over me, <br /> That I glory when I languish, <br />And do blesse the remedy, <br /> That doth feed, not quench my anguish. <br /> <br /> III. <br />'Twas a gentle warmth that ceas'd <br /> In the vizard of a feavor; <br />But I feare now I am eas'd <br /> All the flames, since I must leave her. <br /> <br /> IV. <br />Joyes, though witherd, circled me, <br /> When unto her voice inured <br />Like those who, by harmony, <br /> Only can be throughly cured. <br /> <br /> V. <br />Sweet, sure, was that malady, <br /> Whilst the pleasant angel hover'd, <br />Which ceasing they are all, as I, <br /> Angry that they are recover'd. <br /> <br /> VI. <br />And as men in hospitals, <br /> That are maim'd, are lodg'd and dined; <br />But when once their danger fals, <br /> Ah th' are healed to be pined! <br /> <br /> VII. <br />Fainting so, I might before <br /> Sometime have the leave to hand her, <br />But lusty, am beat out of dore, <br /> And for Love compell'd to wander.<br /><br />Richard Lovelace<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-ellinda-upon-his-late-recovery-a-paradox/
