Thinking of thee makes me feel love;
Love so sweet and deeper than mine.
Unlike the winds, I cannot move;
Unlike the sun, I cannot shine.

To be thy own love is my dream;
no more my past, nor but of him.
He once filled my heart and destroyed;
He lent me an unthoughtful joy.

To dream of him is but a pain;
Thoughts that shall fray in feeble rain.
Shall never I want him again;
Only my curses, shall remain.

Like butterflies in the garden
Thy images flirt 'bout like heaven
Thou art handsomer than glosses;
Even more p'rilous than roses.

Thou shall cure me of all torments;
Thou shall be my real gentleman.
Best of the stories I invent,
A tame hero; a loyal friend.

He is a past too far away;
He whose worries are past dismay;
He traced my path last September;
out of autumn fogs and winter.

He lured me into his foresight;
let me astray in memory.
He knows nothing of wrong and right;
He is too blind to say sorry.

Far I'd wandered past cliffs and beaches;
Until thy heart came into view.
Thou turned backwards within my reach;
Bringing me fresh feelings and clues.

Thou found me 'gain in summer's bliss,
Thou stole my love from heart of his.
I saw in thy bright complexion,
Neither lies nor trepidations.

Thou art worth all salutations,
The ringing joys of fond prayers.
Thou art the fruit of all seasons,
Son of truth and a fast healer.

Thou art the song of morn and night;
Thou art Lantern to all delight.
To be with thee is'a great blessing;
As are t'ese crazes, and love feelings.

And being with thee feels just right;
To breathe by thee at a holy night.
Thou art profuse, like yon foliage;
Good as my dreams, of marriage.