Is love somnolent in our hearts truly?
Within our breasts dost sleep til true love meet?
Trust it is clear it is not so for me,
Within me passion dost each morning greet!

Children foolish e'er give their souls away,
With ease that's lost to those with greater years,
Infatuation steals their naivete
Their cheeks unwet with pain of heartsick tears,

The world sees not love's residency here,
It paints it both in Heaven and in Hell,
Thus it remains both frigid and austere,
Those still passionate doth it try to quell,

Love is not learned except it is received,
We too were once of love as yet bereaved!