Уильям Винтер (William Winter)

My Queen

He loves not well whose love is bold!
  I would not have thee come too nigh:
The sun’s gold would not seem pure gold
  Unless the sun were in the sky;
To take him thence and chain him near  
Would make his beauty disappear.

He keeps his state,—keep thou in thine,
  And shine upon me from afar!
So shall I bask in light divine,
  That falls from love’s own guiding star;    
So shall thy eminence be high,
And so my passion shall not die.

But all my life shall reach its hands
  Of lofty longing toward thy face,
And be as one who speechless stands    
  In rapture at some perfect grace!
My love, my hope, my all shall be
To look to heaven and look to thee!

Thy eyes shall be the heavenly lights;
  Thy voice the gentle summer breeze,        
What time it sways, on moonlit nights,
  The murmuring tops of leafy trees;
And I shall touch thy beauteous form
In June’s red roses, rich and warm.

But thou thyself shalt come not down      
  From that pure region far above;
But keep thy throne and wear thy crown,
  Queen of my heart and queen of love!
A monarch in thy realm complete,
And I a monarch—at thy feet!

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