Fleecy cloud that floats in azure,
Floats above in ethereal blue,
Dost thou ne'er look back with pleasure
Where the lily bells first grew
On the margin of the lakelet,
Fern wreathed beneath the willow bough,
Fed by wand'ring mountain streamlet--
Say, dost thou ne'er look back there now?
Why didst thou leave thy quiet nook?
It was love's ardor, this I know,
For yonder star did always look
So sweetly on thy placid brow,
That thou didst learn to love it so,
Thou couldst no longer linger there,
But left the lily bending low,
And sought to gain thy favorite star.
Thou hast failed to reach the height
So far above thee where it dwells;
Still there it shines through all the night.
But, oh, so coldly now it quells
Thy ardor! Wouldst thou return?
Ah! that's denied thee; only this,
To weep for what thou then didst spurn,--
The pure white lily-bell's soft kiss.
