For she, who was but once unmade;
for she, who gave first fire to stars.
Her kisses sweet as angels’ breath;
her wounds deep as ocean depths.
For she, swelled not merely of stars,
but of placid sky, and o’er horizons.
By silk and soul is she made complete,
and gives me leave again to breathe.
O’, how boldly she does requite love
to earth and sky, as they redeem her.
Let songs be sung of her emerald kiss,
those lips which laid waste to my mind.
O’, treasured arches of her silken bow,
let this flesh be her wage of submission.