Panche Kovachovski


With every beat of my am’rous heart,
My happiness is getting vaster; it canst touch the sky,
When we are severing, my mind is apart,
I drown myself in tears; I cry and cry and cry.

Aye, thy lips are so pretty, more pretty then a thousands stars,
Thy eyen shines, more then the summer sun,
Thou art my Venus, I am thy Mars,
I fight for thee, I live for thee; from thee, I will never run.

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