My words are hymns I paint for you,
Vespers chanting your sacred name;
Incense rises before your face-
And prayers I would say, for no other.

If your eyes were brown or green or blue,
I suppose it would be the same;
The eyes are what give a face it's grace-
But are never the same, in another.

Your eyes will still be my light, it's true,
Whether the moon may wax or wane;
For in your eyes I see a trace
Of the one I would know, as lover.

There's nothing to say, nothing to do,
There's much to lose, and nothing to gain;
But deep inside there remains a place-
Just for you, that I keep under cover.