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me of love, sweet Love, who is thy sire,

Or if thou mortal or immortal be?

Some say thou art begotten by desire,

Nourished with hope, and fed with fantasy,

Engendered by a heavenly goddess' eye,

Lurking most sweetly in an angel's face.

Others, that beauty thee doth deify;—

O sovereign beauty, full of power and grace!—

But I must be absurd all this denying,

Because the fairest fair alive ne'er knew thee.

Now, Cupid, comes thy godhead to the trying;

'Twas she alone—such is her power—that slew me;

She shall be Love, and thou a foolish boy,

Whose virtue proves thy power is but a toy.