Or were I a breath of the soft scented air,
I would waft all my sweets to her bower so fair!
Or were I a thought could awaken a smile,
I would rest on her lip all her woes to beguile;
I would make my bright throne in her sorrowing heart,
And each impulse that grew should its pleasure impart!
Oh, were I a strain of some melody sweet,
I would steal to her chamber her slumbers to greet!
Or were I a dream could recall to her mind
The pleasures and joys she has long left behind,