  My love must be as free As is the eagle’s wing, Hovering o’er land and sea And everything. I must not dim my eye In thy saloon, I must not leave my sky And nightly moon. Be not the fowler’s net Which stays my flight, And craftily is set T’ allure the sight. But be the favoring gale That bears me on, And still doth fill my sail When thou art gone. I cannot leave my sky For thy caprice, True love would soar as high As heaven is. The eagle would not brook Her mate thus won, Who trained his eye to look Beneath the sun. |
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