If through the eyes the heart speaks clear and true, I have no stronger sureties than these eyes For my pure love. Prithee let them suffice, Lord of my soul, pity to gain from you. More tenderly perchance than is my due, Your spirit sees into my heart, where rise The flames of holy worship, nor denies The grace reserved for those who humbly sue. Oh, blesséd day when you at last are mine! Let time stand still, and let noon's chariot stay; Fixed be that moment on the dial of heaven! That I may clasp and keep, by grace divine, Clasp in these yearning arms and keep for aye My heart's loved lord to me desertless given!
Well may these eyes of mine both near and far Behold the beams that from thy beauty flow; But, lady, feet must halt where sight may go: We see, but cannot climb to clasp a star. The pure ethereal soul surmounts that bar Of flesh, and soars to where thy splendours glow, Free through the eyes; while prisoned here below, Though fired with fervent love, our bodies are. Clogged with mortality and wingless, we Cannot pursue an angel in her flight: Only to gaze exhausts our utmost might. Yet, if but heaven like earth incline to thee, Let my whole body be one eye to see, That not one part of me may miss thy sight!
Choice soul, in whom, as in a glass, we see, Mirrored in thy pure form and delicate, What beauties heaven and nature can create, The paragon of all their works to be! Fair soul, in whom love, pity, piety, Have found a home, as from thy outward state We clearly read, and are so rare and great That they adorn none other like to thee! Love takes me captive; beauty binds my soul; Pity and mercy with their gentle eyes Wake in my heart a hope that cannot cheat. What law, what destiny, what fell control, What cruelty, or late or soon, denies That death should spare perfection so complete?
Nay, prithee tell me, Love, when I behold My lady, do mine eyes her beauty see In truth, or dwells that loveliness in me Which multiplies her grace a thousandfold? Thou needs must know; for thou with her of old Comest to stir my soul's tranquillity; Yet would I not seek one sigh less, or be By loss of that loved flame more simply cold.-- The beauty thou discernest, all is hers; But grows in radiance as it soars on high Through mortal eyes unto the soul above: 'Tis there transfigured; for the soul confers On what she holds, her own divinity: And this transfigured beauty wins thy love.