LED BY THE NOSE

Love has no season,
Unlike the rose,
Nor has it reason,
I suppose.

BEHOLD

Where lies the beauty of a rose,

If not arising up in you?

And where the course a river flows

Beyond that source to know it true?

Then nature's art is none at all

Save we distill the greater part,

As music charms no vacant hall,

Thus, love fills an absent heart.