The Bookshelf

Those lips that Love's own hand did make

Breath'd forth the sound that said, "I hate",

To me that languish'd for her sake:

But when she saw my woeful state,

Straight in her heart did mercy come,

Chiding that tongue, that ever sweet

Was used in giving gentle doom;

And taught it thus anew to greet:

"I hate" she alter'd with an end,

That follow'd it as gentle day

Doth follow night, who like a fiend

From heaven to hell is flown away.

"I hate" from hate away she threw,

And sav'd my life, saying -- "not you".