My True-love hath no wealth they say;
But when they do, I tell them nay,--
For she hath wealth of golden hair,
Shot through with shafts from Delos' bow,
That shines about her shoulders rare,
Like sunlight on new driven snow.
My True-love hath no wealth they say;
But when they do, I tell them nay,--
For she hath eyes so soft and bright,
So deep the light that in them lies,
That stars in heaven would lose their light
Ashine beside my True-love's eyes.
My True-love hath no wealth they say;
But when they do, I tell them nay,--
For oh! she hath such dainty hands,
So snowy white, so fine and small,
That had I wealth of Ophir's lands,
For one of them I 'd give it all.
My True-love hath no wealth they say;
But when they do, I tell them nay,--
For oh! she hath a face so fair,
Such winsome light about it plays,
For worldly wealth I nothing care,
So I can look upon her face.
My True-love hath no wealth they say;
But when they do, I tell them nay,--
For endless wealth of mind hath she,
Her heart so stored with precious lore--
Her riches they as countless be
As shells upon the ocean's shore.
My True-love hath no wealth they say;
But when they do, I tell them nay,--
The wild-brier bough hath less of grace
And on wild violets when she treads
They turn to look into her face
And scarcely bow their azure heads.
My True-love hath no wealth they say;
But when they do, I tell them nay,--
For oh! she hath herself, in fee,
And this is more than worlds to me.