Pristine grains of white sands...
Sparkling and dazzling with an ethereal charm of sweetness and light...
Let us build
the sand castle of
camaraderie;
Where we could hear the minstrel music ,
Away from the seething town of the meek
As the sun vainly tried to gild the sea...
Why, such is love''s transgression.
Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast,
Which thou wilt propagate, to have it prest
With more of thine: this love that thou hast shown
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs;
Being purged, a fire
sparkling in lovers'' eyes;
Being vex''d a sea nourish''d with lovers'' tears:
What is it else? a madness most discreet,
A choking gall and a preserving sweet.