Does love like daises die,
whose petals fall
like sleet from the sky--

or perish by certain
misfortune or natural causes,
like a mortal being, by old age--

or like mists doth it evaporate
at the sight of heat--

or is it like a rose in full bloom
in spring--flourishing,
which withers in autumn,

or does love grow stale and
sour with advancing age,
making it to change its visage?