_My love is beautiful and sweet; she is like a pale
pink rose full of the glory of dew and sun. Sharon’s
garden knows not a bloom so fair as she. Persia holds
not a fragrance so heavenly in its perfumed bowers.
Oh, my wondrous love, pour thy scented charm into
the chalice of my longing heart; fill with thy fresh
splendour the air I breathe; and give me youth to
spend on thee, my well-beloved. I am the gardener,
born to tend one flower. My flower is the radiance of
a dawn in June. Like a veil of glowing pearls my love
spreads her light; she is my morning, my joy of perfect
hours. I will sing to her the song fresh roses raise
from their delicious petals when night departs and
they rejoice, sun-kissed, when all the east is rich in
gold. Lovely is my bloom. Her soul is the first blossom
given by Him who made the loveliness of Spring._