In timely feast, my heart yearns,
wholly to elect your reign in my heart,
or will you despise the will of a man's heart?
in vain of this momentary despair?
Whose heart is like a common fowl,
that feeds on ever-enticing grains,
not only the pleasures of the mould i seek,
or the myth of your grips to hide!
but in the direction, i may not forsee,
perhaps how in life, i may be responsible for cure;
tangs of death, by a child's birth,
to give back, what was given me,
and to learn to know a woman's love
as if i can be born without a woman's toil.