Thou Art My Queen

Oh fair, light face, oh soft, dark hair,
Oh tend’rest lips o’er smooth round chin,
Angelic visage rare, so rare,
Who are the star where I’d begin,
How comes it I’m so blessed to be
The man who cries, “I love!” to thee?

For love of thee am I made king
Of little songs that through me fly—
Of pure love’s gold each perfect wing,
And for love’s heart a singing sigh.
For love of thee I’m blessed to reign
This kingdom of undying gain.

Art thou my Queen? ‘Tis true, ’tis true,
True queen of me and my true tongue,
Commanding me wing songs to you
Of beauty’s age, unending young.
Which is the why I’m blessed to be
The singer lone who worships thee.

Oh fair dark hair, oh free live face,
High kindred of angelic kind,
Calm spirit of a pure calm grace
Close-tempered with an earthly mind.
For love of thee I’m blessed to sleep
Where only Beauty’s dreams are deep.

For love of thee I’ll wake so strong
With joyous life in heart and limb,
And you the flame within my song—
A rising light of morning hymn,
That’s blessed in me your soul to praise
Through life-long joys of shining days!

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