The playful way thy wanton hair
Was tossing in the wind;
Thy girlish, vain vexation
Is treasured in my mind.

Held in my heart each sacred spot,
O'er which we roamed at will:
The rose that bloomed upon thy breast
Blooms in my memory still.

Still do I see thy sunny smile,
In sportive dimples traced,
Like truant beams of morning light
By flitting fairies chased.

Thy merry, maiden laughter still
Is ringing in my ear,
As silver streams in sylvan shades
Make music sweet to hear.