I ask no kind return of love,
No tempting charm to please;
Far from the heart those gifts remove,
That sighs for peace and ease.
Nor peace nor ease the heart can know,
That, like the needle true,
Turns at the touch of joy or woe,
But turning, trembles too.
Far as distress the soul can wound,
'Tis pain in each degree:
'Tis bliss but to a certain bound,
Beyond is agony.