Of thy beauty I will in a distant day
ask why in excess.
Shall I love not to lose you?
Shall I dance not to bore you?
Or shall I sing a melody to keep you awake?
For every other eye that sees you shall burn from your blinding light.
The summer is forth
The leaves are withered
But our seasons shall dwell in eternity
In my arms I shall count your silver curls
And remind you of our violet past times.
