"To her who sows every corner of the college with vigor and enchantment"

Who has seen her... and not bowed before her splendor,

humbled... enamored... murmuring: ah!

Ah, for her... if only he might clasp her... enfold her,

Ah, for her... if only he might win some of her favor —

he keeps hoping... perhaps... it may yet be...

Who has seen her... and found any other pleasing???

Who has seen her... swaying beneath the sash

like sweet dew... on the brow of morning?

Dawn laid down her color upon her cheeks,

between the crimson of desires... and the green of promises,

and chose her out... a coquette... beyond compare,

and bestowed on her of its magic... what it bestowed.

Who has seen her... and found any other pleasing??

I wished I might pour out this beauty

as a song that endures... while the model perishes;

its colors dyed with the visions

of your eyes as they search out the impossible,

its melody drawn from warm evening-talk

on summer nights beside the sands,

its perfume taken from a dusky shore

where, in the flutter of the eyelids, the hanging boughs appear,

and from the swaying of the figure its rapturous meters,

and from the tread of footsteps in coquetry.

Then, if I imprison this radiance

in palaces of rhyme like bridal bowers,

what god is beyond the range of my hand,

and what star in the sky cannot be reached?!

And tomorrow poetry will have the right to walk proud:

for love is of its weaving — and fantasy!!