EACH TIME I BEHOLD HER
Each time I behold her again I am lost in wonder....
Is her beauty but for a season, like that of the rose?
Are we men but as the drunken butterflies?
A hundred comely women are in her eyes,
Where she stands in the midst of life....
She is the daughter of many tribes,
She is the mother of many tribes....
Of what use to me are eyes?
Ears only I need——
For her voice I am listening.