To--

O, nymph whose starry smile and whose glance Paved with dawn’s rosy rays, whose eyes of gold Are strewn with midnight’s deep, in utterance Thy grace can’t be in any tongue, foretold Nymph of the flowing streams, thy laden heart And noonday beam can cast me in a spell And if the stars were lovely as thou art They’d still be shamed, for thine own grace can quell An angel’s majesty. Thy ruby lips Oppress the languid stupor of my sleep And are as sweet as noonday myrrh which drips From out a tree’s cleaved roof, where moonbeams leap If only thine own heart can be as sweet As thy soft grace, I’d claim thy love complete © 2013 Gleb Zavlanov