In thy lustihood to air,
And sail about, on untiring wing,
Through a world most rich and fair,
To drop at once in thy watery bed,
Like a leaf that the willow branch has shed.
And who shall say that his thread of years
Is a life more blest than thine!
Has his feverish dream of doubts and fears
Such joys as those which shine
In the constant pleasures of thy way,