Oh make not light of love, my lady dear, <br />For, from that sweetest source doth ever flow <br />All that is likest heaven on earth below. <br />Ill it beseems who worthiest love appear, <br />To scoff at their own worship;—if to you <br />All that a serving soul, tender and true, <br />Can bring of best and holiest offering, <br />Seems but a slight and unregarded thing— <br />Then are you, with your grace and loveliness, <br />A wicked phantom, with an evil spell, <br />Luring warm human hearts to a cold hell, <br />Where in a barren, blighted emptiness, <br />Self-love and vanity together dwell; <br />Companions curst, cruel, and comfortless.<br /><br />Frances Anne Kemble<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-lover-to-his-mistress-2/
