The sight of such beauty as thine to deny ! Nay, fling back that veil, were it but to disclose A cheek that is reddening to rival the rose. II. And yet thou art fair, my beloved one, how fair! And thy young cheek is pale, save when blushes are there. Sweet messengers springing, the rosy and fleet, Thy heart's timid truths to surprise and repeat. III. Come, give me the cup; but how pale is the wine! IV. They say that the stars, which are shining above, V. Ah! give me one moment that little white hand; VI. The trumpet soon summons the soldier from rest, I must live on a look, I must woo with a word. My idol, farewell! VII. But ah! give me to wear And in death will be found next the heart of Navarre. |