From precious blossoms was your beauty born,

Of heaven-scented flowers adorned with dew

That hailed golden sunshine every morn

And stippled lush green meadows with their hue.

No fairer vision ever graced my sight,

Than those blushed pinks that softly grace your skin

Where every sanctifying velvet night,

‘Neath moon and stars, embolden thoughts of sin.

A paragon of Nature without peer

Where every light or shadow can so play

Upon the minds of men to thus endear

Their souls, until their hearts be swept away.

Would that your innocence such power assume:

Vast worlds so conquered by a single bloom.