Now let me strum the ink-strings of love’s lyre

And play for you another little song;

On this my pen’s command shall never tire

In praise of beauty, be it brief or long;

From wanting wit on through my sharper pen

Limned lyrics glide onto white parchment down

And of your graces, lines now sing again

In celebrated chorales of renown.

Superlatives enshrined, steeped deep in rhyme,

Shall stand as tribute to a visage rare—

Mute words to eyes, yet minstrels to the mind

That vocalize a worth beyond compare.

A madrigal for you, borne forth by sight

To inward ears and then the heart’s delight!