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 heartís 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
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