When she, my lady, smiles, I feel as one who, lost in darksome wilds, Sees suddenly the sun in middle sky Shining upon him like a great glad eye. When my sweet lady smiles.
When she, my lady laughs, I feel as one who some elixir quaffs; Some nameless nectar, made of wines of suns, And through my veins a subtle iveresse runs. When my sweet lady laughs.
And when my lady talks, I am as one who by a brooklet walks, Some sweet-tongued brooklet, which the whole long day, Holds converse with the birds along the way. When my loved lady talks.
And when my lady sings, Oh then I hear the beat of silver wings; All that is earthly from beneath me slips, And in the liquid cadence of her lips I float, so near the Infinite, I seem Lost in the glory of a white starred dream. When my sweet lady sings.
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