Emil Aarestrup

1800-1856

To A Female Friend

Your lips bewitch with sweet enchantment,
Your gaze reveals a deep abyss;
Your voice contains unearthly music,
A wondrous strain of dreamlike bliss.

Your forehead rises clear, untroubled,
Your hair is but a sable bower;
A wafting breath of scented blossom
Seems to attend your every hour.

The dimple in your cheek’s a treasure,
An endless wisdom without art;
Your disposition the restoring
Fount and spring for every heart.

Your mind’s a universe displaying
The agitated flush of spring -One
that will nevermore release me,
One that I know, whose praise I sing.
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