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OW say they, dear, that doubt kills love ? Such love doth need no killing ; The love that doubts is dead, my heart, Nor met its death unwilling. Though all the world proclaim her false, Though night to morn should swear it ; No witnesses shall prove her fault, Till she herself declare it. O doubting hearts ! O callous hearts ! Go through the world complaining. Not love, but hate, is blind, O men ; Ye lose by all your gaining.