MY heart, when first the blackbird sings,

My heart drinks in the song:

Cool pleasure fills my bosom through

And spreads each nerve along.

My bosom eddies quietly,

My heart is stirred and cool

As when a wind-moved briar sweeps

A stone into a pool

But unto thee, when thee I meet,

My pulses thicken fast,

As when the maddened lake grows black

And ruffles in the blast.