They ask me for to mourn Because she that was fair Is fair no more, but Time has etched With acid pen across her brow His signature; In spite of him I do rejoice Because for have I seen Her youth restored and grace Change cherry-white of every thorn, And daylight like a hummingbird Drinking the nectar of her eyes; But still for now the funeral chime goes on, And the old men have wisdom in their eyes, And the old women in each brow Deport like newborn stars; So count and bundle up my sighs; Forth does the horse upon the dawn called Joy With mane of colour wheaten ride; And like an aisle of oaks the college of the scribes Lay down the palm fronds of their singing minds; But trust that he who sows a stone shall reap a gem, And he that buys an ox shall tread upon the wind, And I that now to you bring my three tears Because that she was fair and is no more, Foresightful am and filled enough with hope, For I have seen her fair forevermore With nets of diamond tangled in her hair, And so I say to them, rejoice, When they ask me to mourn.