At the sight of thee,
The very first sight of thee,
Reason and will debased by fate,
A passion, then, didst awake,
A motley of composure and qualm,
Mad as flood waters, yet so calm,
In the deep like a sinking quarter,
As I beheld thee, Loise's daughter.
Thou wer't lovely,
Thou wer't fair 'n lovely,
Thine fragrancy and glow as though,
Thou wast made for the lovelorn and low,
As though thou hadst layed among roses,
Or carted for miles with daffodil posies.
If twern't for the lad thou consorted with,
Even I could've sung, then, forthwith.
Ah! Years I didst waste!
The songs that didst go to waste!
Of thine beauteous form and character,
Thy charms and thy kisses, my actuator.
Ah! See how I have loved thee, mi amor,
Loved thee as no man has loved before,
With a passion, deeper than a first love.
I daren't love thee less than you deserve.
And e'en in our old age,
When we're trammeled by time and age,
Yes, most fair and blest mine beloved,
Should it storm, we'll be as one drifted,
Entwined, in bliss, in each other's bosom,
In mutual love, in ill-health and in blossom.
Here now, press mine heart close to thine,
Feel, as yours 'n mine our souls entwine.