At break of the morn on a billowless stream,
Where the wavering shadows are fitfully moving,
Or blush of a Peri that smiles in a dream.
Thus, thus must thou dwell on each glance of affection,
Each token of love I have strewed at thy shrine,
When thy bosom first heaved at the fear of detection,
And its secret alone was imparted to mine;
It is linked with each thought that is born in thy waking,
It embosoms each fancy that softens thy sleep,
And, if e’er it be wild as the waves in their breaking,