Your soul is like a purple flower,
Mary, whose eyes are amethyst,
Whose lips are like red wine when kist,
With sweet life and sweet death for dower;
There are who will have none of these,
Who walk in peace all day upright,
And in the night pray on their knees--
The pleasures of the life in white.
All cloth'd with virtues manifold
Are these--their souls are like white snow;
Fair love, around thy heart I know
My heart is bound with chains of gold.
Sweet youths whose life is in the spring,
The water is all wine they drink,
They sorrow not at anything--
The pleasures of the life in pink.
Your gold hair's like an aureole,
Your lips are gold wine bought and sold,
Pure golden kisses bought for gold;
Each breast is like a golden bowl.
These things are for a scorn to those
That read great books both night and day,
That say, Joy dieth as the rose--
The pleasures of the life in gray.
Sweet youths, white ladies, scholars sour,
Rejoice, and hasten on your way;
Mary, whose skin is white as whey,
Your soul is like a purple flower.