To Her
Thine eyes have not the blue of heaven,
Thy mouth no redness of the rose,
No lily seems thy breast or arm.
Ah! what a wondrous spring were here,
If in the vales and on the heights
Such lilies and such roses bloomed!
And if a heaven surrounded all
As clear, as blue as are thine eyes!
Thy mouth no redness of the rose,
No lily seems thy breast or arm.
Ah! what a wondrous spring were here,
If in the vales and on the heights
Such lilies and such roses bloomed!
And if a heaven surrounded all
As clear, as blue as are thine eyes!
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