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 stars would far outshine!

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!