Smitten

When asked to describe her, I do so despair;

For like a great tree in flower is she,

sometimes like a sweet daffodil, small and slender like;

As hard as diamonds, soft as moonlight;

Warm as mid-spring’s sun, and cold as frost in starry night.

I despair yet, for of her beauty within I spake not,

For her heart is beautiful beyond my reckon

and beyond all human thought.

One day perchance when my body is old and frail,

She will see what I mean,

And smile a smile warm as the mid-spring’s sun and soft as moonlight,

And I will know love like no other…