Find I you, not musing in bliss of love.
In reverie crushed of silent lament,
Pray, let me hear the rant you gave thereof,
of love’s self destructing ensuing bent,
within the hall of whores, how the young doves
who were slain in the prime of their youth spent
purity and goodness without repent.
Your chastity is questioning its trove?
Perhaps you alone should decide the deed.
The time and place, flavor of the choosing.
We can put off the wedding if needs be.
But a mutual loss schemed in musing,
which fulfills a vow that you both shall feed
Shall last longer than the actual deed.