A Fairy from the Sun-shower
[When the Servians see the sun-rays of a summer shower they say it is the fairies combing their hair.]
Over the meadow a shower is roaming ;
Just beyond is the summer sun ;
Fair is the hair that the fays are combing—
Myth come true ! here 's my dainty one
Tripping the path in the wind's soft blowing ;
Her slender form through her gown is showing,
Her foot scarce whispers the way she 's going.
" Come, my bright one, come, my soul,
Let my kisses be your goal."
But the path has heard my sighing,
Turns aside, and leads my fay
Into the forest, love defying.
Path, accursed be ! — but stay !
Lost to love each moment gliding,
What if in the woodland hiding
Still for me my fay be biding ! . . .
" Wait, my bright one, wait, my soul,
Your sweet kisses are my goal."