As if seeking its kindred where bright they lie,
Set in the blue of the summer sky.
Come away, under arching boughs we'll float,
Making those urns each a fairy boat;
We'll row them with reeds o'er the fountains free,
And a tall flag-leaf shall our streamer be.
And we'll send out wild music so sweet and low,
It shall seem from the bright flower's heart to flow;
As if 'twere a breeze with a flute's low sigh,
Or water-drops train'd into melody,