If love has color let it not be dawn
if love has sound let in not be the birds
love produce its beauty only in one
that my hand cannot compel through these words
yet the rhythm of my heart can describe
with every pulse I beg our lips to meet
your eye to my countenance I do bribe
for your hand my breath is stolen to greet
the harbinger of death for one last look
before my eyes have shut and you wilt
I ask you entertain my heart you took
upon the same presence this love is built
to die, my lips have tasted cupids touch
as I know such love I have asked to much.