A summer’s day does not compare to thee,
no image on this earth portrays thy skin,
no willow’s bough bows with more dignity
than do thine arms cradling the love within.
We have put forth the outcome of desire,
a newborne king of man as yet to come,
and in thine eyes kindles a sunlit fire
for this boy, seemly blind, deaf and dumb.
Now and forever will he live to cherish
this: the life that has been given him;
praise not the gods but what they wish,
until the light again to darkness dims.
When all in our love’s time is said and done,
will we remain as twain, not one and one?
