Like a fragment fall'n from yonder bow,
Which hangeth like Hope in the heaven.
And gayly on a golden wing,
At the sweet evening hour,
The humming-bird comes like a fairy thing
To flit round the beautiful flower.
Oh, be not like that humming-bird
Around the sweet rose roving,
That is ling'ring there, while e'er is heard
The breezes of summer moving,