In amber, trapped, I cling to life,
though by no stone am I dight;
no, this gem, in which I am snared,
gleams greater than amber to the sun bared.
Her eyes, her eyes! in their lucent maze
I am lost and blind, dumb and dazed,
but, in joy and glory captured,
I wander in blissful rapture.
No cod contents in the fisher’s hook,
nor the deer in the hunter’s look,
but here I cheer at my trapper’s bait,
exulting in my captive fate.