Losing the perfume borne from flowers fair,
As comes on them and her the gloom of night?
On them and her,—but they will bloom again,
When breaks the day on earth, by sleep spellbound,—
Refreshed by morning winds, or summer's rain,
Gilding with colours bright the dewy ground.
Oh! bear her gently; lay her feeble form
Close by the lake, where beam the waters bright:
Oft has she watched from here the coming storm,
And oft, as now, the glow of evening's light.