Sonnet #1
Tho Certain words may never blossom from your thy lips
To blossom from the earth like scattered seed
Of love's sweet juice I yet take drunken sips
And on its fruit I still in rapture feed
I need not your consent to love you so
No your regard to make me glad like this
Your  kind heart is all that I must know
Your beauty is enough to give me bliss
So stay then stoic firm in your 
Bend not your branch in my caressing breeze
Centries from now I will your sins absolve
And all your wounds I will take pains to ease
​Lay then your stubborn head upon my breast
I'll  weaken your resolve and make it rest