The lover praises his lady's bright beauty

Some night I think if you should walk with me

Where the tall trees like ferns on the ocean's floor

Sway slowly in the blue deeps of the moon's flood,

I would put up my hands through that impalpable sea

And tear a branch of stars from the sky, as once I tore

A branch of apple blossoms for you in an April wood.

And I would bend the dewy branch of stars about your little head

Till they flamed with pride to be as blossoms amid your hair,

But I would laugh to see them so pale, being near your eyes.

I would say to you “Love, the Immortals are hovering about your head,

They laugh at the dimness of stars in the luminous night of your hair.”

I would toss that weeping branch back to the mournful skies.