XIX

The eyes are large. the sight brief
or love cuts it short because it aims to wound
the brow is the bow, a glance the aim
to which love owes its conquests.

On her cheek mother-of-pearl drinks mother-of-pearl,
where in flames of coral a rose
might have died, but its fire joins
the white lily of tempered snow.

The art is excellent, but without art
genius scores a certain hit, and not by luck;
(her) step is measured and yet not studied.

Do not suspect acting in all her parts.
She could be beautiful without beauty,
and I in love without love.