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Thy face, so fair, a canvas to mine eyes;
thy mix of gentle hues leave me speechless,
for they are more lovely than the sun's rise.
Thou hast transformed my world from colorless;
the shades of thine eyes brighten up my sky.
Thy lips, a simple, perfect stroke of paint
that smears into a stream when thou dost cry.
And when thou smiles, paint becomes a constraint.
But thou dost not know about my vision,
about my dreams of thine eyes as a dove
in clouds; and my lips hide a confession...
What would happen if I professed my love?
So long as I live, thou've nothing to fear.
E'er on this canvas, I shall keep thou near.