My Own
My Own is beautiful as floated perfume is the other day she seemed an opening flower My own is beautiful as Angel's flesh in springtime the other evening all the sun was on my heart Save from my owns lips, there is no caress the spirit's parks are decked below her lips In clamor, she is the Temple and in the crowd the verge the welcoming of my own, the happy season. The other morning in her sadness was winter's night the voice of my own, the fairy of sounds For all my life she is an opening flower My Own is beautiful as resurrection is
