By Laskari
What Goddess or Nymph can claim my love's beauty?
What Spirit can match her mystic?
So deep are her eyes, I am lost in them as in the night itself.
A night of joy, a night of joy, a night of splendor.
Her dark tresses, a black to Raven white with envy.
My fair love, her smile is a joy to my heart.
My fair love, she has a dancer's grace.
She walks in that hypnotizing rhythm that lies in a woman's hips.
A dancer's grace indeed, my love.
By all Gods, and all Stars, she is fair!
How the light catches her, just so.
No artist could paint such beauty, such perfection even in it's flaws.
A dancer's grace, my love, and a painter's hands, so slim so soft.
Her touch is as light and warm as a summer breeze.
Her caress is beyond the Grace of the Swan.
Her lips are as a blossom, and I would say rose, yet rose is too flamboyant for her.
She is some shyer flower, a softer, thornless bud of green.
More loving, and less prickly is She.