To the spots my flight I wing,
Scenes of heav’nly rapture past,
Over meadows, to the spring,
Round the hill, and through the wood.
Soon a tender pair I spy,
And I look down from my seat
On the beauteous maiden’s head–
When embodied there I meet
All I lost as soon as dead,
Happy as before am I.
Him she clasps with silent smile,
And his mouth the hour improves,
Sent by kindly Deities;
First from breast to mouth it roves,
Then from mouth to hands it flies,
And I round him sport the while.
And she sees me hov’ring near;
Trembling at her lovers rapture,
Up she springs–I fly away,
‘Dearest! let’s the insect capture
Come! I long to make my prey
Yonder pretty little dear!’