"Would we were two doves in spring"

Would we were two doves in spring,
Perched on a pow'r line, connubially cooing
With the early morn sun t'illumine our wooing
Of amorous pecks 'neath amorous wing,
But we are what we are ('tis this that I'm rueing):
One changeling heart, one broken--your doing!
Such organs joy and sorrow bring;
They house awhile, then purge one's love
('Tis certain Hell when thrown from Heaven).
Love me, then him, but ne'er Him above,
From Whom came wills both noble and craven,
From Whom came arms to embrace or shove.
Here near the Lethe I now dolefully sing--
Oblivion's river, remove mem'ry's sting!