Were you to come, 
With your clear, gray eyes 
As calmly placid as, in summer's heat, 
At noontide lie the sultry skies; 
With your dark, brown hair 
As smoothly quiet as the leaves 
When stirs no cooling breath of air; 
And shorn of smile, your full, red lips 
Prest firmly close as the chaliced bud, 
Before the nectar-quaffing bee ere sips; 
I would not know you. 
I would not love you.

But should you come 
With your love-bright eyes 
Dancing gaily as, on summer's eve, 
The stars adown the Western skies; 
With your hair, wind-caught 
And circled round your shining face 
In fashion which no hand ere wrought; 
And your full, red lips poised saucily, 
As the slender moon midst an hundred stars, 
And held aloof in daring taunt to me, 
Then I would know you, 
Then I would love you.