It is not the lover who is blind

It is the one who does not love

It is not the lover who cannot see

For he sees far better than you and me.

Before he loved, he saw not

He did not know it, but he lingered in the dark

Clueless he was about other things

Unaware how they looked like in the light.

Now he knows and now he sees

And his heart tells him what he must believe

How happy indeed was he to find

The kind of beauty unseen by the blind.