Shakespeare's Sonnet 154

The little Love-god lying once asleep,Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand,Whilst many nymphs that vow’d chaste life to keepCame tripping by; but in her maiden handThe fairest votary took up that fireWhich many legions of true hearts had warm’d;And so the general of hot desireWas, sleeping, by a virgin hand disarm’d.This brand she quenched in a cool well by,Which from Love’s fire took heat perpetual,Growing a bath and healthful remedy,For men diseased; but I, my mistress’ thrall,Came there for cure and this by that I prove,Love’s fire heats water, water cools not love.

Once, as the little god of Love lay asleep, he put his heart-inflaming torch beside him. Many nymphs who had vowed to remain chaste came dancing past. The most beautiful of these devoted maidens took in her virgin hand that flame which had warmed countless faithful hearts. And so the commander of burning desire was disarmed in his sleep by a virgin's hand. She put out the torch in a cool spring nearby, which took on everlasting heat from Love's fire and became a healing bath, a remedy for sick people. But I, a slave to my mistress, came there for a cure, and my experience proves this: Love's fire heats water, but water cannot cool love.