Love And Myself, Believe Me, On A Day At Childish Push-Pin, For Our Sport, Did Play; I Put, He Pushed, And, Heedless Of My Skin, Love Pricked My Finger With A Golden Pin; Since Which It Festers So That I Can Prove 'Twas But A Trick To Poison Me With Love: Little The Wound Was, Greater Was The Smart, The Finger Bled, But Burnt Was All My Heart.