And to your own, it flashes back,
The thought their glance was just revealing.
Some gentle blood runs through my veins,
And I suppose you truly know it,
And then, to crown my boastful strains,
The world has sworn I am a poet.
I'd like to wed and with you dwell,
Within some happy rural valley,
Where zephyrs round the lily's bell,
In summer sigh, and faint, and dally.