Own the glow of kindling love;
It was the early morn of May Day,
On the fresh bank of the wave
Sat the Infanta Rosalinda
Bent her flowing locks to lave.
Flowers they bring her red and rosy,
Flowers they bring her virgin white—
But on a blossom soft as she is
Questing eye may never light.
Softer far is Rosalinda