When, scarcely twenty moons ago,
Upon Tahité's beach,
Thou cam'st to woo me to be thine,
With many a speaking look and sign.
I knew thy meaning—thou didst praise
My eyes, my locks of jet;
Ah! well for me they won thy gaze—
But thine were fairer yet!
I'm glad to see my infant wear
Thy soft blue eyes and sunny hair,