'SAY, have you found the heart I lost
As you and I, last night,
The fragrant, new-mown meadow crossed,
Beneath the sweet starlight?'

'I have a heart; but ere I show it,
'T is fair thou shouldst define
The private marks by which thou 'lt know it;
No doubt the heart is thine.'

'Well, 't was not hard, nor very strong,
A loving, little heart,
Filled with sweet raptures and wild song,
But all unskilled in art.

''T was like, in its free, joyous youth,
A bird upon the wing, —
A worshipper of love, and truth,
And every blessed thing.'

'Well, here's the heart, so fond and true, —
I never could forsake it;
Yet rightfully belongs to you
The priceless gem, — then take it.'

'I thank you, Sir. But hold, look here!
I said my heart was small;
This great, warm, throbbing heart, 't is clear,
Is not my heart at all!

'Aha, a roguish plunderer thou!
So this nice heart is thine!
No matter though, I'll keep it now,
'T is most as good as mine.'