Less pale the almond bud
Upon a bough;
Less pure and new-born moon
Than is her brow.

More amber dwells within
Her tangled hair
Than any sunset glow,
Divinely fair.

As delicate as winds
That skim the sky,
In sudden Springtime showers,
Her gentle sigh.

O fair and flower-sweet
Her tender glance;
Her voice is softer than
The starbeam dance.