Poems by John Henry Dryden

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Can life be a blessing,

Or worth the possessing,

Can life be a blessing if love were away?

Ah no! though our love all night keep us waking,

And though he torment us with cares all the day,

Yet he sweetens, he sweetens our pains in the taking,

There's an hour at the last, there's an hour to repay.

In ev'ry possessing,

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Why should a foolish marriage vow,

Which long ago was made,

Oblige us to each other now,

When passion is decayed?

We loved, and we loved, as long as we could,

Till our love was loved out in us both;

But our marriage is dead when the pleasure is fled:

'Twas pleasure first made it an oath.

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