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Poem	Love and the gentle heart are one thing, just as the poet says in his verse, each from the other one as well divorced as reason from the mind’s reasoning. Nature craves love, and then creates love king, and makes the heart a palace where he’ll stay, perhaps a shorter or a longer day, breathing quietly, gently slumbering. Then beauty in a virtuous woman’s face makes the eyes yearn, and strikes the heart, so that the eyes’ desire’s reborn again, and often, rooting there with longing, stays, Till love, at last, out of its dreaming starts. Woman’s moved likewise by a virtuous man.
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