The tremor of love, sweet— As a honeysuckle; painful as I deign inexplicable. On once a sullen night, blustery— And the tepid rustle of poplar leaves, Cascading rivulet, and as night flowed-- I meandered in thoughts and came upon you: I was lured by your heart, And implore shall I in askance, What was in you that moved me so? What was in you that allayed my heart-frozen cold? And have me in boiling sweat, of flames augmented manifold? If it is in you, to be my fate: Entreat me then, the guidance— For I know nothing, but my heart quivers Awaiting, longing, hoping— that my cold is abated by you.
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Compendium of Words 