Shall the sun not rise and fall on the morrow?
From dusk to dawn then recur?
But not is it praised, holy giver of life,
Almighty sovereign? Doth not shine like the eyes
Of thine lover, nor clasp thou mind like the smile.
And yet still the sun be deserving of such title?
Rather I, the embrace of the eighth then to ever be
Held by its rays, and would thy not? Hark! The delight
One feels at the simple touch of one's lips against thy lovers’
Outweighs with incomparable relish thou suns rays.
But in mind, the sun will rise and fall on the morrow.