That fawn-skin-dappled hair of hers
And the blue eye
Dear and dewy
And that infantine fresh air of hers!
I love you for a glance, you know—
For a world's sake,
Or a word's sake,
All's the same, whate'er the chance, you know
My mind and I
And in turn we make you ours, we say
You and youth too,
Eyes and mouth too,
All the face composed of flowers, we say
All's our own, to make the most of, Sweet
Sing and say for
Watch and pray for
Keep a secret or go boast of, Sweet

So, we leave the sweet face fondly there
Be its beauty
Its sole duty!
Let all hope of grace beyond, lie there!
And while the face lies quiet there
All shall wonder
That I ponder
A conclusion? I will always be there

Shall we burn up, tread that face at once
Into tinder
And so hinder
Sparks of love from kindling all the place at once?
Or else kiss away one's soul on her?
Your love-fancies!
'The great one' sees
Truer, when his hot eyes roll on her!
Thus the craftsman thinks to grace the rose
Plucks a mould-flower
For his gold flower
Uses fine things that efface the rose.
Rosy rubies make its cup more rose,
Precious metals
Ape the petals
Last, some great king locks it up, morose!

Then, how grace a rose? I know a way!
Leave it rather.
Must you gather?
Smell, kiss, wear it—at last, take it away!
@The great one