The secret bowers of Love shall be thy own,
The one great bliss, so long thy hope’s despair,
Will press with eager feet to find thee there.
TELL ME, DEAR BIRD.
In the warm twilight where I mused, there came
A bird of unknown race with breast of flame.
Tell me, dear bird, O bird with breast of flame,
I conjure thee, e’en by his sacred name,