Ah, happy air that, rough or soft, 
   May kiss that face and stay; 
And happy beams that from above 
   May choose to her their way; 
And happy flowers that now and then 
   Touch lips more sweet than they! 

But it were not so blest to be 
   Or light or air or rose; 
Those dainty fingers tear and toss 
   The bloom that in them glows; 
And come or go, both wind and ray 
   She heeds not, if she knows. 

But if I come thy choice should be 
   Either to love or not -- 
For if I might I would not kiss 
   And then be all forgot; 
And it were best thy love to lose 
   If love self-scorn begot.