To one like you I'm sure it seems unkind
That one like me could take, in this, delight;
But you and I are two of separate mind,
So what you say is wrong, I may call right.

She is the brightest rose within my sight;
Truly, she's a wonder to my eye.
But you would say she barely shines that bright,
And that she is dull as a starless sky.

Something in you sees her quite so dry,
And something in me sees her as a queen.
Beauty's not the truth, it is a lie
That every separate mind believes is seen.