By the hill-side, in the grove,
Gems she’ll prize far more than jewels,
The bright flowers which I love,
With the dew-drops heavy-laden,
Sparkling in the red dawn light,
As the molten glory beameth
O’er the ebon wand of night.
Oh, my heart throbs wildly ever,
In its loneliness and wo,
And I long me for the summer,