There are, in truth, few beauties can compare
to you, my lady, when you care to smile.
Even now, you, with downcast eyes,
are self possessed with grace and matchless style.
Your Father’s disgrace and untimely fall
has dimmed your light into a shade of blue.
No look or touch of mine can ease your pain;
my words, inadequate, to comfort you.
If there is, in beauty, truth, I can’t recall
I am experienced, Love, in most things-
but not all.