Classic Poem

If of my love you seek a sign,
Her fair encountered face to know,
Oh, learn of other lips, not mine,
The marks by which to go!

So fair is she, so fair is she,
When down to evening sets the sun,
For fear lest parted they should be
His colour to her face doth run.

So sweet is she, so sweet is she,
That every air which round her blows
Hangs laden like a honey-bee,
As in her breast he comes and goes.

So fond is she, so fond is she,
That, every time we kiss and part,
More freely she bestows on me
The deep possessions of her heart,

So blind is she, so blind is she,
That, when beneath her looks I dwell,
A star-like gaze she bends on me,
And without measure loves me well!

If of that love you seek a sign,
That, mounting, you her heart may know, —
Oh, ask of angels' lips, not mine,
The way by which to go!