XII.
I am like the tufted linden,
All in gala dress arrayed,
Thou art the lovely rose of May,
Come seat thee in my shade.
Here every leaf is breathing sweetly,
Here the buzzing swarm resorts,
Hither fly the birds at even,
And the birds they are my thoughts.
And far away, away they fly,
As children from their home they flee,
But they will fly away no more,
When thou seat’st thyself by me.
XIII.
Full oft I think—so oft as e’er
I press thy heart to me love,
That thou for me alone art here
On earth, and I for thee love.
’Tis hard to-journey in the world,
And never be benighted,
And the best bliss on earth is this,
When kindred hearts are plighted.
And hath the king his coronal,
And God his heaven above,
The little bird his bower of spring,
Oh! I have thee my love.
