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There's many a temple high,
That towers above the plain—
But oftener times have I
On thy soft bosom lain,
Than all those temples number'd:
I'll slumber where I've slumber'd,
Till earth is whelm'd again.Která ge panenka stydliwá.
THE shame-faced maiden fain would shy
The modest youth—but ah! she knows
He saw her—and she hurries by,
Deep-blushing like a scarlet rose.
O, silly youth—are you afraid.
And could you not your thoughts disguise?
For when you pass'd the blushing maid,
You pull'd your klobuk[1] o'er your eyes.- ↑ Hat.
