Thou Flower Of Summer

When in summer thou walkest In the meads by the river, And to thyself talkest, Dost thou think of one ever-- A lost and a lorn one That adores thee and loves thee? And when happy morn's gone, And nature's calm moves thee, Leaving thee to thy sleep like an angel at rest, Does the one who adores thee still live in thy breast? Does nature eer give thee Love's past happy vision, And wrap thee and leave thee In fancies elysian? Thy beauty I clung to, As leaves to the tree; When thou fair and young too Looked lightly on me, Till love came upon thee like the sun to the west And shed its perfuming and bloom on thy breast.