Let me feign to be angry And see his pain of suffering for a while. Sulking is the salt of love. To prolong it Is like salt a little too much. To leave a sulky woman alone Is to cause more pain to the suffering. To ignore a lady in pout is to cut An already withering climber at its root. The beauty of her feigned anger has an attraction Even for the spotlessly pure men. Without frowns and sulking, Love is like a fruit unripe or overripe. Coyness has this one drawback. That is the worry of delayed union. Why grieve when the lover is not there To know whether you are grieving? Just as the refreshing water in the shade, Pouting has its charms only between lovers. Only my desire makes my heart pine for union With one who keeps on sulking.