Her lap with forget-me-nots laden.
I now am forgotten; but if?—
No matter! I see the sweet glory
Of love in those fathomless eyes;
I tell her an often-told story—
They sparkle with light and surprise!
O, rivers are rapid, and Syrens were thieves,
Their music was naught to the music of leaves!
Ah, Love, do you ever remember
The stream and its musical flow?