If it is not love, our hearts coincide,
That everlasting pulse of a flutter;
Sweetens as thy smile blossoms red roses,
To the valleys of the nights fallen music,
Tripping notes arise with the spring thy bring,
And fall, yet, at the sharp winters to come.
Thine beauty of Aphrodite’ bestowed,
Commoves the starlet to shine so brightly.
Thine twinkle in both thy eye’ compares not;
To the luminous rubies a man’s heart must wish.
Impending tenderness nourish the hearts of fools,
If this is which a man feels sumptuous,
And it is not love, rather a desire of a fool,
If it is not love, must be men are all?