The Virgin Queen
My care is like my shadow
Laid bare beneath the sun
It follows me at all times
And flies when I pursue it
I freeze and yet am always burned
Since from myself again I turn
I love and yet am forced to hate
I seem stark mute; inside I prate
Some gentler love doth ease itself
Into my heart and mind
For I am soft and made of snow
Love, be more cruel or so be kind
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