That orb of the even’g sun sets in clouds,
And storms have ent’red that somber nightly shroud,
O'er golden streamlets, and forests all around,
The dy’ng day hidd’n behind sun’s golden mound.

So is that beauty which you hold in lease,
beauty, full of cand’r and does never cease,
while I bend and I low’r my sight and head,
And worship your gay smiles, as is said.

Unmiss’d by creation joyous and vast,
Still chill’d in the light, soon I shall have cast,
Will that beauty die with her guileless heart,
Leaving me enslav’d, as so it did start.

Fortune; chances of where my soul is lost,
While I roam through life couni’g the final cost.