Beauty dressed you in one night
with a golden kiss and satin love
and I was awe-struck by this sight:
Your place is not here, but above
where angels harp a forlorn music,
Two roses bloom in your soft face,
But I pluck only the most unique
that breathes with fragrant grace.
Now, it is my lips that you harvest,
Hands fastened by your dark hair,
Hearts thumping with sweet unrest,
Our fate mingled with a merry air:
Two butterflies dancing like a pair
Before beauty’s mirror-like nest.