what is it with her, Beauty,

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,
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!