Oh, tell her, thou murmuring river,
As past her your light wavelets roll,
How steadfast that image for ever
Shines pure in pure depths of my soul .
XIII.
And linger and whisper in at our bower;
(They babble, babble all they know:)
The delicate secrets they have drawn
From bird and meadow and tree and flower;
(Gossiping softly, whispering low.)
Some linden stretches itself to the height,
Then rustles back to its dream of the day;
(They babble, babble all they know:)
Some bird would trill out its love-delight,
But the honey melts in its throat away;
(Gossiping softly, whispering low.)
Some flower seduced by the treacherous calm
Breathes all its soul in a fragrant sigh;
(They babble, babble all they know:)
Some blossom weeps a tear of balm
For the lost caress of a butterfly;
(Gossiping softly, whispering low.)
