To the red-haired woman

To the red-haired woman who lives in the forest of the wild. The trees touch you with their dreams...

She wears not silver
Nor shimmering jewels,
Nor any fine ornaments,
But a flower on her hair,
Yet she is more than enough
Even without it. 
The sun is in her eyes;
The moon is breathing on her skin; 
When she speaks, the lion sighs.
What beauty does this woman hold?
I once made a garland of roses
For her head, and they turned gold. 
What pure radiance is she made, what art?
O, Queen of my heart.