I would not that the curious world should know
The sacred joy that now has blessed me so.
O little lily, leaning from the gloom,
Hold thy too fragrant breath, that there be room
In the deep stillness for my heart to bloom.
Hush, little birds upon the Maple tree!
I cannot hear, ye sing so noisily,
The sweeter song my soul would sing to me.
O happy lids, droop over happy eyes,