I LOOK at the crisp golden-threaded hair Whereof, to thrall my heart, Love twists a net. Using at times a string of pearls for bait, And sometimes with a single rose therein. I look into her eyes which unaware Through mine own eyes to my heart penetrate; Their splendour, that is excellently great, To the sun's radiance seeming near akin, Yet from herself a sweeter light to win. So that I, gazing on that lovely one, Discourse in this wise with my secret thought:-- 'Woe 's me! why am I not, Even as my wish, alone with her alone,-- That hair of hers, so heavily uplaid, To shed down braid by braid, And make myself two mirrors of her eyes Within whose light all other glory dies?' |