Love

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Oh, how dost thou be beautiful,
drinking in the fountain of glory,
your fair beauty doth possess,
my very fragile soul.

Oh, how doth thou be glorified,
though thought and deed count as none,
your pride and dignity doth take over,
my once broken soul.

oh, count me as thine lover,
though thickness before me sleep,
is thine love greater than mine?
nay, I tell you nay.

for mine is greater than thine's,
oh, sweet lover... why dost thou avenge me?
for mine own heart is sicker with love,
never to behold thee's face again.