Count the bees that on Hybla are straying,
Count the flowers that enamel the fields,
Count the flocks that on Tempé are playing,
Or the grains that each Sicily yields;
Count how many stars are in Heaven;
Go reckon the sands on the shore,
And when so many kisses you’ve given,
I still will be asking for more.
To a heart full of love let me hold thee,
A heart, that dear Betty is thine;