Sent its bright current to her cheek—
Would that I could its praises speak!
But were I lonely, sick, or sad,
Her voice would make the stranger glad.
She held a basket in her hand,
Which seem’d to have come from fairy land;
For flower, and vine, and fruit were mix’d,
And all so tastefully were fix’d,
I thought that fairy hands had done
The beautiful thing I gazed upon.