what is it with her, Beauty,
in each way she’s so perfectly
that reason that’s with every choice,
at any moment ready to give voice
to everything a man could dream of,
purely,
and so, everything he, then, couldn’t; surely,
she keeps within her, deep, an endless store
of life, of all she’ll breathe and so hope for—;
and may this mark such a moment, so soundly sung,
for her—with her—on golden walls up high, proudly hung!