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!