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MISCELLANEOUS PIECES.
261
SONG.
Oh, moon of flowers! sweet moon of flowers,[1]
Why dost thou mind me of the hours
Which flew so softly on that night
When last I saw and felt thy light?
Oh, moon of flowers! thou moon of flowers,
Would thou couldst give me back those hours,
Since which a dull cold year has fled
Or show me those with whom they sped!
Oh, moon of flowers! oh, moon of flowers!
In scenes afar were past those hours,
Which still with fond regret I see,
And wish my heart could change like thee!
- ↑ The savages of the northern part of America sometimes count by moons. May is called by them the moon of flowers, and October the moon of falling leaves.
Hanover, U.S., May 1830.
