Hidden from none, priceless, but free!
The swish of the oar in the dark, quiet stream,
Rhythmical, clear, soothing to hear,
Scatters the mist as a little moonbeam
Kisses the lips that are mine by right,
And caresses the form with its mellow light
For which I am yearning to-night.
This world is a place full of trouble and pain,
None of us know, why this is so;
In fancy, at least, when you suffer again,