To another land upon the brooklet’s breast?
Or art thou sailing to the sea, to lodge
Amid a reef, and, kissed by wind and wave,
Die of too much love?
Thou’lt find a resting place amid the moss,
And, ah, who knows! The royal gem
May be thine own love’s offering.
Or wilt thou flutter as a time-yellowed page,
And mould among thy sisters, ere the sun
May peep within the pack?