O, to be alive is to make mistakes
To be in love is to be harmed and harm
However mine love says it shan’t forsake
Reflections of love, ne’er elicit qualms
Have I veneer’ed beauty well deceived?
Yes, I have seen a soft blossom of truth
Yet I hear of a weed forever peeved
Shall I base on thine reports or mine sooth?
Does love disable my mind’s inner eye?
Or do some conspire against mine mistress?
She is my angel, kindly delightful
She is their devil, callous and frightful.
Incessant thoughts of doubt are truly due
O, I doubt but do I doubt what is true?
By Martin Tin