alas, the moon should ever beam

to show what man should never see! —

i saw a maiden on a stream,

and fair was she!

i staid awhile, to see her throw

her tresses black, that all beset

the fair horizon of her brow

with clouds of jet.

i staid a little while to view

her cheek, that wore in place of red

the bloom of water, tender blue,

daintily spread.

i staid to watch, a little space,

her parted lips if she would sing;

the waters closed above her face

with many a ring.

and still i staid a little more,

alas! she never comes again!

i throw my flowers from the shore,

and watch in vain.

i know my life will fade away,

i know that i must vainly pine,

for i am made of mortal clay,

but she’s divine!