Mounting the crimson tinge of dawn,
And, looking timidly around,
Stood, like a startled fawn.
“Nay, do not fly,” exclaimed the youth;
“Remain; allow my thirsty eyes
To quaff thy beauty: I would drain
A draught of Paradise.”
Wonder awaking in her face,
The maiden stood, with lips apart,
Drinking his voice, whose cadence stole