Once more, enchanting maid, adieu !
I must be gone while yet I may.
Oft shall I weep to think of you ;
But here I will not, cannot stay.

The sweet expression of that face,
For ever changing, yet the same, 
Ah no, I dare not turn to trace.
It melts my soul, it fires my frame

Yet give me, give me, ere I go, 
One little lock of those so blest,
That lend your cheek a warmer glow.
And on your white neck love to rest. 

— Say, when, to kindle soft delight.
That hand has chanced with mine to meet. 
How could its thrilling touch excite 
A sigh so short, and yet so sweet ? 

O say—but no, it must not be. 
Adieu ! A long, a long adieu !
—Yet still, methinks, you frown on me ;
Or never could I fly from you.