  I love the Lotus-blossom when it wreathes Its painted petals in my sweetheart’s tresses, And she, enchanted by its odour, breathes Soft words of love, and soothes with soft caresses. I love the Lotus-blossom when it lies On the white bosom of a sleeping woman, And falls and rises as the dreamer sighs, For that love’s sake she yet has told to no man. I love the Lotus-blossom, for it grows On a lone grave beside a silent river; There my youth’s mistress takes her last repose: I loved, I hated, and I now forgive her. |
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