| With grace and beauty does she speak, |
| As angels fly about her |
| In strands of gold her head upon |
| They form a wondrous crown. |
| Words do not flow across her lips, |
| Nay, 't is the honey rose! |
| This thornless treasure wisdom speaks, |
| Its bloom the sweetest prose. |
| Eyes as mirrors true are hers, |
| And deeper than the ocean; |
| Lanterns that glow a light of joy |
| Greater than other emotion. |
| Grant, O grant that I may be |
| One of the cherubs that guard thee; |
| And grant that I may till the soil |
| That brings forth the blossom red; |
| Let me sail that sea so deep |
| Following the currents that lead to that |
| Place where my heart doth belong |
| And makes my soul complete |
| Yet is completeness so or not |
| The essence of stupidity? |
| To say another makes thee whole |
| Proves thyself unworthy. |
| Yet if she speaks with honesty |
| What of when she speaks not? |
| Perhaps I suffer less than she- |
| Her silence tells me truthfully. |
| To love and lose is verily |
| A fruit that none should ever taste; |
| But never to have nor have again |
| Is a deserve'd fate. |
| And so I call on truth to guide |
| My wandering soul through life. |
| If, by her lesson, I reach the good |
| My soul will be complete! |
© 2000-2001 Vincas Ciziunas