She grew into a silver cypress tree,
Her heart was steely, and her spirit free,
And Wisdom gazing on her lovely face
Was baffled to describe her radiant grace.
It said, "She is a garden burgeoning
With all the freshness of the early spring,
Her eyes are two narcissi, and her hair
The purple violets darkly nestled there,
Her face is formed from tulips and wild roses."
But then it said, "It's autumn that composes
Her loveliness, not spring, and she is made
Of fruits that ripen in autumnal shade:
Her hair is clustered grapes, her breasts now show
The shape of pomegranates as they grow,
Her chin is like an apple, sweet and round."
And then it said, "In this sweet girl is found
The riches all the world desires, and she
Is like a wealthy royal treasury:
Her skin is silk, her face is rich brocade,
Her hair the essence from which scents are made,
Her body's made of silver, and beneath
Her ruby lips peep priceless pearls, her teeth."
And then it said, "But God has formed her of
His own refulgence, and celestial love,
And in her body all components meet
That make the walks of paradise so sweet,
The water and the milk, her cheek's red wine,
The honey of her lips, are all divine."
It's no surprise if Wisdom missed the mark,
Since heaven's eye, in seeing her, grew dark.
Her cheeks would steal spring's heart, when Patience spied
Her lovely eyes it sighed for them and died;
Her face was like the sun, in coquetry
She was the mistress of all sorcery.
Like some pale Western king, her face was white;
Her braids were guards, dressed blackly as the night,
And, like a royal African's, her hair
Glowed from her cheeks' bright torches, burning there.
Her curls were like a black cloud, and amid
Its darkness Venus, her bright earrings, hid.
Her fingers were ten reeds of ivory,
Their nails were filberts fitted cunningly,
Her necklace was like ice that coalesced
Upon the conflagration of her breast,
As though the splendid Pleiades were strewn
Across the shining surface of the moon,
As though a glittering torque should somehow be
Fitted around a silver cypress tree.
She was a houri in loveliness,
In inward strength she was a sorceress,
Her eyes were doe's eyes, and you'd say that her
Plump rump belonged upon an onager.
Her lips rained sugar down, and everywhere
She walked musk wafted from her perfumed hair;
And you would say that subtle mischief made
Her face to plunder hearts as its cruel trade,
Or that this lovely creature had been given,
All of the beauty that was owned by heaven.