Floats she with royal grace
Across a meadow
Of fresh green hopes;
Such glowing radiance to her face,
But purest joy born
Of noblest thought could endow.
The still dark pools of her limpid eyes
With the sweet nectar of love;
Her smile could thaw the winter’s ice,
Divine bliss that dwells in angels above
Blossoms in this rustic maid.
She halts by the rambling jasmine vines
Climbing away to unknown glory,
She gently plucks the pearly buds-
Tendresse has many signs...
And strings them to tell the soulful story
Of two hearts that beat as one.
Festooning the velvet piece of midnight sky
Cascading down her shoulders frail,
And oiled to lustrous perfection,
She lets out a gentle lovesome sigh
That bursts open the niveous buds
To spread the scent of a tender tale.
Skirt tickling the springy green,
She moves on, the mystic lass;
The cuckoo sings with unknown fire,
The roses blush like never seen,
And the old peepal smiles at the old, old tale
Of two hearts that beat as one....