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ArtistAs she moves, the tinkling of her ankle-bells Seems like the song of love, low-breathed, and sweet, Of newly-wakened bees among the flowers; Her graceful arms are laden with the weight Of youth's fresh beauty; and her neck is bent In modest loveliness, like a young deer's. Her words are soft, and full of gentle meaning; Her bright eyes glisten with the dew of love, As two blue lotus-buds with diamond dewdrops. And on her cheek, like to a newly blown, Pure pinkish lotus, there appears a flush, As though her inmost heart had been transferred To the fair outside; while her lips, apart, Divulge the secret longing of her soul
As she moves, the tinkling of her ankle-bells
Seems like the song of love, low-breathed, and sweet,
Of newly-wakened bees among the flowers;
Her graceful arms are laden with the weight
Of youth's fresh beauty; and her neck is bent
In modest loveliness, like a young deer's.
Her words are soft, and full of gentle meaning;
Her bright eyes glisten with the dew of love,
As two blue lotus-buds with diamond dewdrops.
And on her cheek, like to a newly blown,
Pure pinkish lotus, there appears a flush,
As though her inmost heart had been transferred
To the fair outside; while her lips, apart,
Divulge the secret longing of her soul
