The Blonde Maiden

Though she depart, a vision flitting,      If I these thoughts in words exhale:     I love you, you blonde maiden, sitting      Within your pure white beauty's veil.      I love you for your blue eyes dreaming,         Like moonlight moving over snow,      And 'mid the far-off forests beaming         On something hid I may not know.     I love this forehead's fair perfection      Because it stands so starry-clear,     In flood of thought sees its reflection      And wonders at the image near.      I love these locks in riot risen         Against the hair-net's busy bands;      To free them from their pretty prison         Their sylphs entice my eyes and hands.     I love this figure's supple swinging      In rhythm of its bridal song,     Of strength and life-joy daily singing      With youthful yearnings deep and long.      I love this foot so lightly bearing         The glory of sure victory      Through youth's domain of merry daring         To meet first-love that hers shall be.     I love these hands, these lips enchanting,      With them the God of love's allied,     With them the apple-prize is granting,      But guards them, too, lest aught betide.      I love you and must say it ever,         Although you heed not what you've heard,      But flee and answer: maidens never         May put their trust in poet's word.