The voice of souls uttering bare truths is clearly heard;
O! sweet tongue of honesty my precious love doth possess.
How mesmerised stand they to hear this most poignant bird
Thy reason thou doth present methodically caress'd;
Methinks thee a ravished nightingale with thy sweet song.
Bewitchingly thy persuasion their reason they do question,
Yet beneath thy sway their minds and double-tongued faces throng.
Prophetic greetings lend their grace to guileful gesticulation,
Whilst minds convene and collude to propound my ardent dearest.
Prithee, what see thee in strange blossom in garden's shady nook?
Would'st thou not favour a bright-hued rose in splendour best
Ergo, thou might discard that abhorrence in thy babelen brook?
Noblewomen, this humble man's mind's desire is held in its entire to this the most simplest of flowers, the flower of the Hellibore.
Mine ears do dance whence in sounding those sweet words admir'd,
Flower's life offerest joy and joy, sweet joy, is love's manifestation
of eternity more.
`T. Imaan Tretchicovmanicova