Alexis calls me cruel; The rifted crags that holdThe gathered ice of winter, He says, are not more cold.
When even the very blossoms Around the fountain's brim,And forest walks, can witness The love I bear to him.
I would that I could utter My feelings without shame;And tell him how I love him, Nor wrong my virgin fame.
Alas! to seize the moment When heart inclines to heart,And press a suit with passion, Is not a woman's part.
If man comes not to gather The roses where they stand,They fade among their foliage; They cannot seek his hand.
THE COUNT OF GREIERS.