--Poet, babbling delicate song
Vainly for the ears of love,
Vail not hope if thou wait long;
Charming thy hope to song
Thou wilt win love.

Thou dost yearn for lovelier flow'r
Than all blooms that all men cull:
Thou wilt find in its one hour,
In its one dell, the flow'r
That thou wilt cull.

Thou wilt know it in its own dell,
And pause there; and thy heart then
Leaving hope will sing love well,
Fill with heart's joy the dell
Of thy love then.

--Where is thy dell, when is thy time.
Lovely winsome tenderling?
Ah! if death fall ere that prime--
Now, bring me now in time
My tenderling!