I Feed A Flame Within, Which So Torments Me, That It Both Pains My Heart, And Yet Contents Me: 'Tis Such A Pleasing Smart, And I So Love It, That I Had Rather Die Than Once Remove It. Yet He For Whom I Grieve Shall Never Know It: My Tongue Does Not Betray, Nor My Eyes Show It. Not A Sigh, Not A Tear, My Pain Discloses, But They Fall Silently, Like Dew On Roses. Thus, To Prevent My Love From Being Cruel, My Heart'S The Sacrifice, As 'Tis The Fuel: And While I Suffer This To Give Him Quiet, My Faith Rewards My Love, Though He Deny It. On His Eyes Will I Gaze, And There Delight Me; Where I Conceal My Love No Frown Can Fright Me: To Be More Happy, I Dare Not Aspire; Nor Can I Fall More Low, Mounting No Higher.