O little lily, lean into the gloom!
Pour from thy deep cup all its rare perfume,
Sweeter will be my joy when it shall bloom.
Sing gayly, that the richer world with me
May so rejoice in joy that is to be,
O little birds upon the Maple tree!
O happy heart, send up to eyes and cheek
The gladness that I have no words to speak;
The fairest ones too powerless and weak.
Nay, burning sky, hide thy too brilliant glow!