I bless thy lips, thy lustrous eyes,
Thy face, thy feet, thy forehead fair,
The light that shines in summer skies,—
In garden walks when thou art there,—
And all the grass beneath thy feet,
And all the songs thou singest, Sweet!
XXX.
But blessing thus,—ah, woe's the day!—
I know what tears I shall not shed,
What flowers will bloom, and, bright as they,