Had blended with the lights of eve; 10

And she was there, my hope, my joy,

My own dear Genevieve!

She leaned against the armèd man,

The statue of the armèd knight;

She stood and listened to my lay, 15

Amid the lingering light.

Few sorrows hath she of her own,

My hope! my joy! my Genevieve!

She loves me best, whene’er I sing