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There is a love of heat intense,
Which like a scorching ray
Consumes the rose of innocence
And quickly dies away.


There is a counterfeited love--
A studied work of art,
Which seems as if the cooing dove
Had got a vulture's heart.


There is a love in words expressed,
And, ah! too oft believed,
Which leaves the trusting heart distressed,
Forsaken and deceived.


There is a love to reason blind
Which nature can't control--
A thought which occupies the mind
And fills up all the soul.


There is a love of modest blush--
A timid bashfulness
Which tells you by that glowing flush
What words could not express.


There is a love serenely calm,
The germ of earthly bliss,
Which cherishes a healing balm
In each devoted kiss.


There is a love which pity claims,
Seen in each kindly deed--
A sacred love which ever aims
At helping those in need.


Then say what is your love for me--
Deceitful or sincere?
Deep-rooted as a forest tree
Or like a baby's tear?


Or is it like the morning dews
Which on the flow'rets fall--
Short-lived, enduring or profuse
Or do you love at all?