What beauty lies to find in nature’s sky?
Your hair so bright just as the golden sun,
And gaze at heaven’s blue star in your eye;
Make little of me that my love is none.
For you contain a hundred passes wild,
And nature is predictable when cold;
This separates man from organic tile,
Bind beauty, mood, and soul to life from mold.
I dare not write you as a silent hill,
Way, pasture, lake or beautiful spring day;
A summer lies where raging rivers fill
Your quiet, brooding heart holds winter’s May.
Let poets write their naturistic state;
May she who lives be called my human mate.