As it steals through the forest and ruffles the lakes:
Her eyes are so gentle, so calm, and so blue,
That I'm sure that she's constant, and trusting, and true:
Her features are delicate, classic, and pure:
Her hair is light chestnut, and I'm almost sure
That the sunbeams that bathe it can't set themselves free:
Her teeth are like pearls from the depths of the sea.
A bee in a frolic once stung her red lip,
And left there the honey he hastened to sip:
Let her go where she will, she is always the belle,