The Loved One's rose-parterre I went to see,
That beauty's Torch espied me, and, quoth He,
"I am the tree; these flowers My offshoots are.
Let not these offshoots hide from thee the tree."
What profit rosy cheeks, forms full of grace,
And ringlets clustering round a lovely face?
When Beauty Absolute beams all around,
Why linger finite beauties to embrace?