Whisper to me, O Angel of the sky,
Of that malady Love that I have tasted,
That acute nectar, that my Love doth apply,
And upon my beating heart has placed.
Let them as subtle whispers stay,
Since words do thy beauty so strongly defy,
Let the Sun be hidden, in clouds so gray,
To let my Desire, in dormancy lie.
But hark, Desire doth not desire as such to be!
My Love doth not love, being hidden in me...
Where none but my heart may skip when he sees,
Thy fairest facade and inexplicable beauty.

Did angels delight when Elora was born?
For thine Elegance does but shame, the Morning's shy dawn.

Penned by my hand on the 8th of Ero, in the year 392 AF.