As the sun yawns,
as the moon shines,
or anytime, shall I love thee.

The time of day doth not matter,
never mind the place,
my being canst help but love thee.

Though I canst utter this to thee,
nor whisper nigh the rose bushes,
I do love thee.

The foolish thought doth ensnare me
and cause my lips to tremble,
yet I think it all the more.

“I love thee,” my soul dost weep,
but thou must never hear,
forbid thine mind thinkest it too.

(But how dost one so full
not share this notion, so overwhelming,
and let thy heart ne’er know such compassion?)