In the glow of the light of Clarinda, my love,
There is something so soft, like the down of a dove;
There is something so warm that is simple and sweet,
Yet with firm common sense makes her loving complete.
It is real living beauty, the rarest and best,
And it beams to me truly with all her great zest,
Where the touch of her thought on my love and desire
Makes my musical speech soar up higher and higher.
And yet here on the ground l am satisfied, whole,
With that calm, simple truth which is only her soul.
Only? No, but the brightest of right, bright things to me,
Who does worship her face for the sun l do see.