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Gay little moon, that hath not understood!
She claps her hands, and calls the red wine good;
O careless and beloved, if she knew
This wine she fancies is my true heart's blood.
Girl, have you any thought what your eyes mean?
You must have stolen them from some dead queen.
O little empty laughing soul that sings
And dances, tell me—What do your eyes mean?
And all this body of ivory and myrrh,
O guard it with some little love and care;
Know your own wonder, worship it with me,
See how I fall before it deep in prayer.
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