My heart is as light as the gossamer veil,
That floats on the bosom of air;
It changes as oft as the varying sail—
Like a butterfly, roams without care.
Love, like a flower, is but fair for awhile;
Its freshness soon passes away;
To-morrow I'll seek in some newly-found smile,
The charm that delights me to day.
That cup may be sweetest which deepest is drunk;
Be it mine but the surface to sip:
When once from the top the bright bubbles have
sunk,
Oh! then let it pass from my lip!
That love may be blissful, whose roses can bind
For ever the heart to its shrine;
But as well you might chain the light wings of the
wind,
As throw fetters for long over mine.
Thus gaily I'll rove, o'er the blossoms of love,
Just catching their sweets as I fly;
As the zephyr, that transiently bends from above
A fresh flower for every sigh.