The morning songbird sings and its song is sweeter,
The fresh fragrance of the dewfall is sweeter.
Because she is so sweet,
Her slow pulsing form (mere vessel of the soul) exhales and her breath is sweet.
Why! She awakes! and I am made weak and inebriated with love:
Even ordinary elements of conduct, speech and reflection are transfigured to an amiability like lemon drops.
She is lovely and modest, but I am not modest in my thanksgivings.
I am her subject.
I am a drunkard who has had too much to eat,
Because she is so sweet.
I believe in the relativity of the universe,
But there is no relativity where her rainbow-field flows;
Only the happenstance of violet and emerald hues;
Only the happenstance of amethyst;
Only the happenstance of honey-suckle trailing beneath velvet feet,
Because she is so sweet.
