1. O Lord, I hung it
By the cloaks, swaying gently,

2. And the tender narcissus
That grew entwined in its eyes,

3. It is fragile but with a touch
Of sadness in its eyes, grows more fragile,

4. If it sinned in aloofness
Then my patience has forgiven,

5. How often I admired the softness of its waist,
Only to meet its disdain,

6. And hoped for tenderness
From that haughty one, but it hesitated.