Song LXXXII. the Willow

Gentle willow, lend thy shade, Hang thy sheltering foliage low, Screen, ah screen a wandering maid, Screen her from yon world of woe.

Lower still thy branches bend, Waving as the zephyrs play, Till they to the stream descend, And shield me from oppressive day.

So may that stream unceasing flow, And deck thee in eternal green! So may thy shade yet deeper grow, Till not a sunbeam pierce between! And Philomel with sweetly plaintive song, Forever chant thy verdant boughs among!