Who can resist the call of love´s perfume?
Who can deny the strength of its allure?
Only that one who´s never felt abloom,
as a dry desert with neither hope nor cure.
Who can remain strong in arms of treason?
Who can endure the troubles of regret?
For, when apart, the heart lingers in prison
chained to mild memories so heavy to forget.
No harder battle, no more fulfilling feeling
than that of lovers consumed in passion flame.
No better life than that of death when healing,
no bigger pleasure than being two as the same.
Love lies unconscious, full covered with blind veils
and, even old or wrinkled, its twinkle never fails.
Something about love in a simple sonnet.
The picture is Bouguereau´s Cupid and Psyche.