SONGO praise me not with your lips, dear one!Though your tender words I prize.But dearer by far is the soulful gazeOf your eyes, your beautiful eyesYour tender, loving eyes.O chide me not with your lips, dear one!Though I cause your bosom sighs.You can make repentance deeper farBy your sad, reproving eyes,Your sorrowful, troubled eyes.Words, at the best, are but hollow sounds;Above, in the beaming skies,The constant stars say never a word,But only smile with their eyes—Smile on with their lustrous eyes.Then breathe no vow with your lips, dear one;On the winged wind speech flies.But I read the truth of your noble heartIn your soulful, speaking eyes—In your deep and beautiful eyes.
O praise me not with your lips, dear one!Though your tender words I prize.But dearer by far is the soulful gazeOf your eyes, your beautiful eyesYour tender, loving eyes.
O chide me not with your lips, dear one!Though I cause your bosom sighs.You can make repentance deeper farBy your sad, reproving eyes,Your sorrowful, troubled eyes.
Words, at the best, are but hollow sounds;Above, in the beaming skies,The constant stars say never a word,But only smile with their eyes—Smile on with their lustrous eyes.
Then breathe no vow with your lips, dear one;On the winged wind speech flies.But I read the truth of your noble heartIn your soulful, speaking eyes—In your deep and beautiful eyes.