C. E. Da Ponte

HASTEN, soft wind, and when amid the gay

She moves with eyes of calm and tender light,

And forehead pale as foam-lit waves at night,

And voice harmonious as the warbling lay

Of birds that usher in the fragrant May,

Whisper, soft wind, that she remains the bright

Pure empress of this heart, whose sole delight

Is thus to muse on moments past away;

O, whisper this and tell how little I

Have known of joy since last I saw her face,

How the bright stars, lamps of yon changing sky,

Woods, streams, and every secret place,

Bear witness to my truth; yes, murmur this, then die

On those fair lips, bright opening buds of grace.