The Return Home, 74

Upon thy snowy bosom
My head all-softly I lay,
And secretly can listen
To what thy heart doth say.

The blue hussars are blowing,
And riding in at the gate;
To-morrow my heart-beloved one
Will surely desert me straight.

If thou wilt desert me to-morrow,
At least to-day thou art mine,
And in thine arms so beauteous
With twofold bliss I’ll recline.