There is a music in the way she moves
I cannot find on any radio,
A pure enchantment, such that it behooves
Me to be careful that she does not go.
I love her for far more than that, and, no,
That is not near the only reason why
I should wish her to stay. It would do, though,
Were it alone the reason that I sigh
And look for her, and inwardly must cry
To lose her as she wanders far away.
To say that it were all would be to lie
But there's no falsehood in me when I say
She moves, and I am drawn: that were enough
Without that (more important) other stuff.
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