The Blonde Maiden

Though she depart, a vision flitting, If I these thoughts in words exhale: I love you, you blonde maiden, sitting Within your pure white beauty's veil. I love you for your blue eyes dreaming, Like moonlight moving over snow, And 'mid the far-off forests beaming On something hid I may not know. I love this forehead's fair perfection Because it stands so starry-clear, In flood of thought sees its reflection And wonders at the image near. I love these locks in riot risen Against the hair-net's busy bands; To free them from their pretty prison Their sylphs entice my eyes and hands. I love this figure's supple swinging In rhythm of its bridal song, Of strength and life-joy daily singing With youthful yearnings deep and long. I love this foot so lightly bearing The glory of sure victory Through youth's domain of merry daring To meet first-love that hers shall be. I love these hands, these lips enchanting, With them the God of love's allied, With them the apple-prize is granting, But guards them, too, lest aught betide. I love you and must say it ever, Although you heed not what you've heard, But flee and answer: maidens never May put their trust in poet's word.