My sweetheart's like Venus,
she's lovely and light,
She's fairer than blackthorn,
she's slim and she's white,
there's no one is like her,
from far or from near,
it's truth I am telling
for all men to hear.

Her form has the splendour
of straight-growing trees
her hair like ripe corn
that is stirred in the breeze,
her eyebrows like gossamer
that hangs by the door
if only she'd love me
I'd ask nothing more.

My sweetheart, she loves
like a shower of rain,
now clouded, now weeping,
now smiling again,
but she who loves many
is left without one,
a faithful, true lover
has one love alone.

Wales, arr. Gustav Holst