XI-LXVII

From thy own main give pearls to my rill,
My gems to each door, each land and hill.
That gale did not ope my heart’s shut door,
Bid a verve anew and a gale more.¹

1.         Basic thought (A lover is never satisfied with one glance of the beloved. As such the poet(the lover is craving for more and more, a new glimpse ever).
Rill: a small stream.