Feign sulk; embrace him not so that
We can see his distress a bit.
Sulking is the salt of love; but
Too much of it spoils the taste.
To leave the sulker unembraced
Is to grieve the one sorely grieved.
To comfort not lady in pout
Is to cut the fading plant at root.
Pouting of flower-eyed has
To pure good mates a lovely grace.
Love devoid of frowns and pets
Misses its ripe and unripe fruits.
"Will union take place soon or late?"
In lover's pout this leaves a doubt.
What's the good of grieving lament
When conscious lover is not present?
Water delights in a shady grove
And sulking in souls of psychic love.
My heart athrist would still unite
With her who me in sulking left!
BOUDERIE
