The Virgin Queen

My care is like my shadow
Laid bare beneath the sun
It follows me at all times
And flies when I pursue it

I freeze and yet am always burned
Since from myself again I turn
I love and yet am forced to hate
I seem stark mute; inside I prate

Some gentler love doth ease itself
Into my heart and mind
For I am soft and made of snow
Love, be more cruel or so be kind