To Ernestine

Sweet is life, my Ernestine!
In the od'rous myrtle grove,
In the arras of holy love,
In Dione's, or in thine.
Sweet is life, my Ernestine!
Some may fear lest wind and wave
Delve for all their wealth a grave;
Some may heap Golconda's store,
Ever adding more to more;
Warriors climb the slippery hill
Crown'd by glory's citadel;
Welcoming the Peans loud
Victory wakens from the crowd;
But, with thee, my Ernestine,
Yes ! with thee to live be mine.
Silenced every worldly tone,
O how sweet to live alone!
Seeing— wishing not to see
Aught but those bright smiles of thine;
Thee, my love—and only thee—
Hearing nought but thy soft breathing,
Or thy gentle rustling, wreathing
Little flowers of love for me.