Classic Poem

To the sound of the waters moving,
The birds 'mid the bright flowers sing,
Oh! sweet is the bliss of loving,
And sharp is jealousy's sting.
Through these woods, where tranquillity reigneth,
To the sound of the streams sonorous,
The birds in musical chorus
Sing of the bliss that paineth;
The water that never remaineth,
But runneth in crystal glidings,
Whispereth ever the tidings
That never the heart disdaineth.

To the sound of the waters moving,
The birds 'mid the bright flowers sing,
Oh! sweet is the bliss of loving,
And sharp is jealousy's sting.

The narcissus, in summer hours,
Love's splendour and glory weareth;
Dark jealousy never neareth
The pansy and violet flowers;
The waves by the sloping shores
Mingle in mute embraces,
And the sands, like bright-eyed faces,
Look up through the crystal pores!

To the sound of the waters moving,
The birds 'mid the bright flowers sing,
Oh! sweet is the bliss of loving,
And sharp is jealousy's sting.

The streams, Love's treachery singing,
Glide on, and from petal to petal,
On threads of the purest metal,
The delicate pearls are stringing.
Like flowers and thorns are springing
Love and jealousy ever;
And while with a sad endeavour
I sing of their sweets and stinging,

To the sound of the waters moving,
The birds 'mid the bright flowers sing,
Oh! sweet is the bliss of loving,
And sharp is jealousy's sting!