alas, the moon should ever beam
to show what man should never see! —
i saw a maiden on a stream,
and fair was she!
i staid awhile, to see her throw
her tresses black, that all beset
the fair horizon of her brow
with clouds of jet.
i staid a little while to view
her cheek, that wore in place of red
the bloom of water, tender blue,
daintily spread.
i staid to watch, a little space,
her parted lips if she would sing;
the waters closed above her face
with many a ring.
and still i staid a little more,
alas! she never comes again!
i throw my flowers from the shore,
and watch in vain.
i know my life will fade away,
i know that i must vainly pine,
for i am made of mortal clay,
but she’s divine!
