No. 17.
Now the sun is streaming,
Clear and pure his ray;
April's glad face beaming
On our earth to-day.
Unto love returneth
Every gentle mind;
And the boy-god burneth
Jocund hearts to bind.
All this budding beauty,
Festival array,
Lays on us the duty
To be blithe and gay.
Trodden ways are known, love!
And in this thy youth,
To retain thy own love
Were but faith and truth.
In faith love me solely,
Mark the faith of me,
From thy whole heart wholly,
From the soul of thee.
At this time of bliss, dear,
I am far away;
Those who love like this, dear,
Suffer every day!
At one time he seems upon the point of clasping his felicity.