In love alone we hate to findCompanions of our woe.

My only love sprung from my only hate.

Hate me an hour, and then turn round
And love me truly, just one minute.

Hate me an hour, and then turn roundAnd love me truly, just one minute.

Love turns, with little indulgence, to indifference or disgust: hatred alone is immortal.

She likes herself, yet others hates, For that which in herself she prizes; And while she laughs at them, forgets She is the thing that she despises