She knows it not

She knows it not, as I sway,

in reverie of her,

and because of that longing soar,

waking, to her,

and as always I whisper and caress

and talk to her,

and remain standing before each rose,

as though I stood before her;

as all my longing, my desire

strive after her,

and everything in me is bound up

only in her.