Love, Pride and Forgetfulness

Ere yet my heart was sweet Love's tomb,

Love laboured honey busily.

I was the hive, and Love the bee,

My heart the honeycomb.

One very dark and chilly night

Pride came beneath and held a light.

The cruel vapours went through all,

Sweet Love was withered in his cell;

Pride took Love's sweets, and by a spell

Did change them into gall;

And Memory though fed by Pride

Did wax so thin on gall,

Awhile she scarcely lived at all.

What marvel that she died?