In her eyes
Colours of buntings add weight
To the branches of the wise
Trees that bear them in wait

For that ceremony
We've been scheming all these days.
We do not search for honey,
But ways

Of looking into those eyes,
Luscious like frescoes of heaven
Above fields of ice
Strewn with costly leaven

For the bread of sweetness
Eaten and swallowed
By men and beasts of meekness
Recognised and hallowed

By what they've seen in her eyes —
Those two friendly points in her face;
Those sweet eyes of high price and prize
That cause the hearts in us to race.