A flower stand there;
As stars it glisten'd,
As eyes 'twas fair.

I sought to pluck it,--
It gently said:
"Shall I be gather'd
Only to fade?"

With all its roots
I dug it with care,
And took it home
To my garden fair.

In silent corner
Soon it was set;
There grows it ever,
There blooms it yet.


HATEM[25] (1815)

Locks of brown, still bind your captive
In the circle of her face!
I, beloved sinuous tresses,
Naught possess that's worth your grace--

But a heart whose love enduring
Swells in youthful fervor yet:
Snow and mists envelop Etna,