Soone must come morely close for a man as I  of tim’d depression and despair
Ergo mine armour in regards to persist has me not but men of more lingering taste
Thy lord I true to be but to forsake me, and I to bereave, lament and lust
Rather so I’d ought to make amends with my sorrowful part as it perishes into the galactics
...to heave my heart and arts into the constance of stars and ablaze such ebullition of a passion and admiration I canst no longer contain
I shall wayt everly for us to be one for an instance once more
Untold; I know not if one couldst say this to be the elegy or the orb of euphony but forsooth it is...to the Herald of Lovers.