The hero Honour would only accept the best,
In light of his triumph and rule,
He set off in search of the most worthy bride,
As befitting his grandest nobility.

From the luminous stars,
And glistening deep blue springs,
Was the spark of joyful light;
Found in the glint of her eye.

The radiant warmth on a midsummer day,
And the cosiest of hearths in the night,
Could be thawed by her smile,
And the gentle grace of her touch.

Songs of the forest – the music of life,
Lull of the ocean, and the call of the mountain,
Are but vulgar to melody’s voice,
Who can silence the earth with a note.

The artisan’s work of a century past,
And the vistas of radiant sunrise,
Cannot hope to compete with perfection of form,
Defined by her lines and her curves.

Floral dances of a hopeful spring,
Are yet more pale imitations of her,
As is the taste of a meal on the air,
After a bountiful harvest.

The purest intent of a summer-less lamb,
From a heart which has only known love,
These are the gifts of the daughter of Wisdom;
Named Beauty, for the bliss of the land.

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