O Beauty, what is this?
A shadow of your face . . .
Where is the wild flower grace
That Love is wont to kiss?
Where is the bird that brings
To your untroubled eyes
The blue of fairy skies,
The flash of fairy wings? . . .
O wild bird of delight,
That no white hand may hold,
Or fairest cage of gold . . .
For who would stay its flight?
The song-bird of your voice
Whose magic song Love hears,
Trembling behind your tears,
Trilling when you rejoice . . .
O Beauty, what is this?
The shadow of a rose . . .
A little ghost that goes
Oblivious of Love’s kiss.
Only a shadow . . . yet
It may, in some dark hour
Recall the living flower . . .
If haply Love forget.