If Beauty Could Let Her Love To Me

If beauty could let' her love to me like the white buds on a magnolia tree what a nature in my soul there would be what a freedom in my breast for thee could I, in truth, set wing flung free? If love were just an olive branch what bodice of joy would there be no chaste hearts lost-romance no heaven for a wondering, bee not for the likes my-love-for thee. If beauty were plentiful in every cup if every face wore a star's makeup how miserable it all would seem; how much like an empty dream clouds in their thunder would-ream.