Sonnet 3: Jeune amour

Collect the blooming blossom, not the bud

unfolded.When the grown subdue to time,

the verdant youths with their veins full of blood

resist the nature’s force, commit no crime.

The flowered soon will pass their primes when they

are pollinated. Then they wither, fruit.

The green buds haven’t yet been led astray

by worldly buzz of slander or repute.

O Vernal breeze! You spread sweet young love’s seed

across Veronese parted houses’ walls.

Yet vines of jealousy you too did breed

devoured the Moor in his Venetian halls.

Beneath my old bark run young vessels still.

This hollow husk awaits your spring to fill.