"Picnic at Hanging Rock"

[swamp_lynx]

What we see, and what we seem
Are but a dream... A dream within a dream.
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I love thee for thy high-born grace,
Thy deep and lustrous eyes,
For the sweet meaning of thy brow
And for thy bearing so high.
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I love thee, not because thou art fair,
Softer than down, smoother than air.
Nor for the Cupids that do lie
In either corner of thine eye.
Wouldst thou then know what it might be?
'Tis I love thee, 'cause thou lovest me.