Be as a sweet nocturne to my ear, Beautiful in nostalgic melancholy, Or as a thorny rose, for fear Thou should be plucked from memory For thy odor. Moved to tears Would I be if sweet incense Were inhaled cheaply, for here Unworthy senses give no recompense And no reminder of vision seen. Lost by waking breath Like ethereal steam. Your vibrant imagery, to death. Oh sweet nocturne, oh passed dream.