My Lady

I loveth thine hair,
and thine skin so fair.
I loveth thine eyes,
which tell no lies.
I loveth thine nose,
with it's shining tip,
and most of all,
I loveth thine lips,
for love is spoken there.
I loveth the wind,
which rustles thine hair,
and kisses thine lips.
I loveth the sun,
which peeks from clouds,
giving thee warmth,
and lighting thine day.
I loveth the trees,
that line the walk,
and whisper,
you've passed their way.
I loveth thine person,
from head to foot,
I loveth thine ways,
thine gaze,
and all at which thee look.
That I might touch that
which thee have,
that I might hold that,
which thee love,
that thy might see me,
in thine sleep,
that thy might love me,
just a week.
Oh lovely one,
of infinite grace,
can'st I gaze upon thy face,
without the fear of sharp respite,
as I confess my love,
each day,
and night.

W. James Beard, Jr.