My heart breaks at the look in your sweet eyes
As we two browse among these varied wares;
You take delight in stuff that money buys
Yet know, to me, possessions are but cares.

You'd like to make me gifts because I please;
When all I do is what I would have done
In any case, when love brought my heart ease.
I've you! And so of gifts, I need not one!

This is the sort of thing on which I dream:
To go with you, my love, through meadowlands
Or mountain paths, and finding crystal stream,
Laughingly drink our fill from two cupped hands.

You wish me so, to covet hand-made lingerie,
But I cannot, for I've found Queen Anne's Lace,
And misty webs of spiders. I see naught today
Comparable in this most expensive place.

My foolish darling --must I really choose
Among these gems? Well, I suppose I might;
No, not that jeweled necklace. I should lose
All pleasure in it, worn out of my sight!

But rather, on my finger, this rare stone
For watching colors when the light goes through.
And never would I dare to tell you this, my own
Sweet Love, but any clear prismatic glass would do!