Sonnet 4

No soul has lived to writ Love's own moan;
Too doubtful is physics, for lover's games;
Push and pull of Love, gravity has gone.
Even the Beast of the Beauty, Love tames.
Ay, no man knows where blood for Love is brought.
From mine chest to thine, waterfalls do form;
Liquids of red love, to water Love's thought;
Water turned to Love's blood after bodies storm.
Oh, how chemists turn into lads at this!
Blooming Love names itself Mother Nature;
Frowns a botanist; flowers born at a kiss!
Go laugh, and think of me an immature,
But all scientists are hurt of conscience,
For our love defies all laws of science.