My Own is beautiful as floated perfume is
The other day she seemed an opening flower
My own is beautiful as Angel's flesh in springtime
The other evening all the sun was on my heart
Save from my own's lips there is no caress
The spirit's parks are decked below her lips
In clamour she is the Temple and in the crowd the verge
The welcoming of my own, the happy season.
The other morning in her sadness was the night of winter
the voice of my own, the faëry of sounds
For all my life she is an opening flower
my own is beautiful as resurrection is.