Had I met thee in they beauty
When my hand and heart were free,
And no other claimed the duty
Which my sould would yield to thee.
Had I wooed thee–had I won thee,
Oh, how blest had been my fate;
But they sweetness hath undone me–
I have found thee–but too late!
Like the fawn that find the fountain
With the arrow in his breast
Or like light upon the mountain
Where the snow must ever rest.
Thou hast known me, but forget me,
For I feel that ills await;
Oh, tis’ madness to have met thee,
To have found thee, but–too late!
