Harun Omar and Master Hafiz keep your dead beautiful ladies. Mine is a little lovelier than any of your ladies were. In her perfectest array my lady, moving in the day, is a little stranger thing than crisp Sheba with her king in the morning wandering. Through the young and awkward hours my lady perfectly moving, through the new world scarce astir my fragile lady wandering in whose perishable poise is the mystery of Spring (with her beauty more than snow dexterous and fugitive my very frail lady drifting distinctly, moving like a myth in the uncertain morning, with April feet like sudden flowers and all her body filled with May) -- moving in the unskilful day my lady utterly alive, to me is a more curious thing (a thing more nimble and complete) than ever to Judea's king were the shapely sharp cunning and withal delirious feet of the Princess Salom? carefully dancing in the noise of Herod's silence, long ago. If she a little turn her head ...
"Çiçeğin açması da bir tür şiir belki - Bilmiyorum"