University of Virginia Library


196

A Love-Song of Henri Quatre.

Come, rosy Day!
Come quick—I pray—
I am so glad when I thee see!
Because my Fair,
Who is so dear,
Is rosy-red and white like thee.
She lives, I think
On heavenly drink
Dawn-dew, which Hebe pours for her;
Else—when I sip
At her soft lip
How smells it of ambrosia?
She is so fair
None can compare;
And, oh, her slender waist divine!
Her sparkling eyes
Set in the skies
The morning star would far outshine!

197

Only to hear
Her voice so clear
The village gathers in the street;
And Tityrus,
Grown one of us,
Leaves piping on his flute so sweet.
The Graces three,
Where'er she be,
Call all the Loves to flutter nigh;
And what she'll say,—
Speak when she may,—
Is full of sense and majesty!