I’m dying in t’is fever of love, the love which I bear
To thee like Majnun, O’ Laila!
You weigh my affections none, so I went
To register in the logbook of Supreme authority-
To make our rendezvous, – crying, bleeding heart,
Nigh there in the café of Romeos.

Smells always of some perfume, the perfume of love.
[The scent of your body, drives me crazy.]
There we met at, in an encounter: first flash,
You kept me under thy enthrall.

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As the sorcerer chains the minds composure
By the malpractice, so does your scent, O’ Lady.
Thy arrows art thy Ledaean like charms.
It’s twisting my liver; killing me softly…, O’ Darling.

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