O’ bright day, O’ day, with hue so pale,
And those dim dark chambers and coats
Of night, the moons rich purse of gold
Bejeweled, it’s brightest glow, where
The Ancient sun wanes.
Sweetly musing Those beauteous eyes
Which spangles the fairest Stars,
Gallant in the glittering brow of
Loves inspirational beauty.
My gentle lover, my Blessed saint,
O’ my gazing angel cloud,
May I behold her beaming rays or none,
And be not twain.
Her sweet honey breath, coral lips,
Cheeks a rose, eyes pearl and Those
Autumn tresses that Travel in the
wind. Turn the sweet smell of love
Upon a Bank of Morning roses.