13.
The eyes of spring, so azure,
Are peeping from the ground;
They are the darling violets,
That I in nosegays bound.
I pluck them, thinking deeply,
And all the thoughts so dear,
That in my heart are sighing,
The nightingale sings clear.
Yes, all my thoughts she singeth
And warbleth, echoing far;
So that my tender secrets
Known to the whole wood are.