The wind blows for her,

The sun shines for her eyes,

Rivers flow for the softness of her skin.

She, the most beautiful woman in the world,

Does not live like the rest of us,

She exists, as the heavens exist.

 

No mortal hand can lift the stone of Agamemnon

But if she were just to speak a word

The stone would crumble

Like armies misled and starving,

Like the shore before the sea.

I should think the universe would disappear, if she but whispers the command.