html.skin-theme-clientpref-night @media(prefers-color-scheme:dark){html.skin-theme-clientpref-os }My birchen bark, my birchen bark!
When Fortune first made Love a rover,
He shaped it for his own trim ark
To float Care's deluge gayly over.
Then leave the boasting pioneer
To hew his skiff from yonder pine,
And, dearest, with young Love to steer,
Become a passenger in mine:
In swan-like grace thy form resembling—
With joy beneath thy sweet limbs trembling—
For lightsome heart, oh, such a boat
On summer wave did never float!
Think'st thou, my love, that painted barge,
With gaudy pennant flaunting o'er her,
Could kiss, like her, the flowery marge,
Nor break the foam-bells formed before her?
Look, sweet, the very lotus-cup,
Trembling as if with bliss o'erbrimm'd,
Seemed now almost to buoy her up
As o'er the heart-shaped leaves we skimm'd—
Those floating hearts, beside their flowers,
Half bear the boat and both of ours!
For lightsome heart, oh, such a boat
On summer wave did never float!