O, craftfully carved soapstone and
alabaster visage, what that you knew
of all of the gentle dreams I'd plan'td;
a green garden in which our love might grow.

O, that only I could demonstrate to
you how wondrous together we could be,
spirits entwined and bound as thread on *****,
if only I could charm you to love me.

Such things are correctly known to be dreams -
for circumstances - and great many fears -
Forever, I'm trapped in gardens' green,
stuck to merely casting you longing leers.

Yet ultimately, I'm sure that I would
love you more dreaming than in waking would