Not even Juliet,
Nor even Elizabeth Bennet,
Could makest this heart sin.
It is only you,
And only you makest
This heart see one.
One that could destruct
One that could build
Only one that could summarize
All emotions to one.
Because you,
You my darling!
Is my painting Liza
Of the masterpiece,
My Joan of Arc,
In the field of battle.
And the Cleopatra
Of this heart like pyramid.

So it is shall by intent,
That my heart is at best yours.
Promised that,
Not even storm,
Not even plague,
Not even starvation
Nor death,
Could separate my life with yours.