O’, how swelled my spirited heart,
most sweet and infinitely formed
in the tender fashion of your eyes;
had I not held you of my own flesh,
would I but think it as mere dream,
and would ne’er be quelled in love.
O’, how softly breath escapes me,
as in dreaming, tho’ quite undone,
and heralded by your dulcet song;
you call my name, and awake I am,
‘ere dreaming seems far removed,
thus flesh has substance and hold.
O’, bright sun, heated wildly o’er me,
lend not a moment to shadow as yet,
and let night find me wide awake still;
‘ere may I ne’er dream, but be of flesh,
with my hours aware of her breathing,
thus spend eternity awake in her eyes.