From Julia’s whiter hand a snowball came

I thought it ice but felt if flame:

See, as the hardend fleece she throws

The substance kindles as it goes,

Forgets its native cold, when prest

By her soft hand, and burns my breast.

Where safe from love shall I retire,

If slow contains a latent fire?

Julia, thy love alone can ease

Our pains, and quench the fires you raise.