My little lover is the twin
Of angels soaring in the skies,
And in her huge and steel-grey eyes
Brims all the love of Lillian.
I watch her barefoot in the halls,
Twirl thin fingers in the air,
Brush back her long and yellow hair
Till like a cloak of gold it falls.
She wears two rings of polished tin,
Her nut-brown throat by sunlight kissed,
Sports three pink torques of amethyst,
This pleases my fey Lillian.
And through her soft silk slits her thighs
Peek out when gentle breezes swirl,
A Siren is my laughing girl,
Though, sometimes, she is full of sighs.
Her voice is like some violin,
Made from a wood not of this Earth,
Her smile is full of guileless mirth,
This is my lovely Lillian.
On her bare hips a golden chain
Was by a master goldsmith knit,
Like gossamer so delicate,
She wears her pretty chatelaine.
And now with one long silver pin
She gently sweeps up all her hair,
And with that pin she holds it there,
Then goes to sleep, my Lillian.