Fain would I stay with thee!—
Alas! this may not be;
Yet bring me still the gifts of happier hours!
Go where the fountain’s breast
Catches, in glassy rest,
The dim green light that pours through laurel bowers.
I know how softly bright,
Steep’d in that tender light,
The water-lilies tremble there e’en now;
Go to the pure stream’s edge,