If it be thy rain which nourishes love,
I find myself in drought; lacking even
A cloud to bring hope of relief above
The parched landscape of my heart. O, heaven;
Feed this withering affection that it
May flower anew, growing stronger by
Showers of passion. I beg the spirits:
Make us, like lightning and thunder, enskied.
Fear not I may drown within thy torrent;
Though supposed weak, my roots go deeper
Than I can exhibit in this warrant;
But, blooms neglected don't last forever.
Unleash thy storms to quench this wicked thirst,
And in my garden of love live immersed.