Because I, girl, am sighing,
always looking forward as I go,
like butterflies and robins,
Oh! from your eyes candid love;
because your eyes are expressive,
which two missives of the soul are,
I see in them with hope,
the happiness that I long for.
I would like to be a bee,
and in the carmine and orange blossom
of your nectarean mouth,
A sea of blissful sacrifice!
If I were a swallow,
I would search eagerly for
the bayberry of your bosom,
happy to nest in it.