... 

⁠Fain would I stay with thee, —
⁠But oh! it must not be;
Yet bring me still those gifts of happier hours!
⁠Go where the fountain's breast
⁠Catches, in glassy rest,
The dim green light that pours through laurel bowers.

⁠I know how softly bright,
⁠Steeped in that tender light,
The water-lilies tremble there, e'en now;
⁠Go to the pure stream's edge,
⁠And, from its whispering sedge,
Bring me the flow'rs, to cool my fevered brow.

 ... 

⁠And oh! if thou would'st ask
⁠Wherefore thy steps I task
The grove, the stream, the hamlet-vale to trace;
⁠'Tis that some thought of me
⁠— When I am gone, — may be
The spirit bound to each familiar place.

⁠I bid mine image dwell,
⁠(And break thou not the spell!)
In the deep wood, and by the fountain side!
⁠Thou must not, my beloved!
⁠Rove where we two have roved,
Forgetting her that in her spring-time died!

⁠Haste! to my pillow bear
⁠Those fragrant things, and fair; —
My hand no more may bind them up at eve;
⁠Yet shall their odour soft
⁠One bright dream round me waft,
Of life, youth, summer, — all that I must leave!

 ...