To Jane: When passisons fade
The thing methinks when kiss thy lips
was done ere thou bestowed eclipse.
What drives is merely passions told,
then soon it comes the winter's cold.

Oh how will he go through the night?
'thout none could help ignite the light.
To whom could he confess his sin?
When think thy smooth and flawless skin.

The cold has gone, the spring's shade.
For now I see a gentle dove.
When we grow, passions'll fade,
And all the rest can be but love.