Neath the hood and cape That his beauty drape Shines my moon of grace: 'Ye who love forsake' Cry his charms, 'O take Me to your embrace!' If his garments seem Coarse, and if ye deem He is meanly clad, Yet recall the rose: Stemmed on thorns, it glows Beautiful and glad. Recollect the pitch Black and brutal, which Crowns the precious wine, And remember how Boxes cheap enow Harbour musk divine. |