Your finger to me is that of a throned queen,
And its gesture is a law I want to act thus.
My words of praise may flattery mean
To outside beings but never to us.
Your goodness is high when I think of it;
Faults of you are never in my view.
Though you may fault sometimes a bit,
Your goodness is what I still see in lieu.
When do you plan to give me yourself?
in marriage of faith for the crowd by jove.
For you are already my wedded self,
Since I met your eyes and said my love.
This poem may go on for ever and ever,
‘Cause unending are words given me by you.
It’s time I put a dot to it and sever,
As now I don’t want to play with words, but you.