Dearest
B,
Thou art beautiful my
beloved.
Yes, more beautiful than the wild
flowers
flowing to the rhythm of the
wind.
Yes, thou art more beautiful than the
green
grass where we make our bed in
Spring.
What satisfaction can the wild flower
give me,
or the tender grass beneath our
feet?
For they do not speak sweetly as
you.
Nor do they have lips that delight
me.
I love you, a thousand times I love
you-
Even more than I love the
earth!
Love
will
