Wishes

O THAT I were a little stream, That I might flow to him—to him! How should I dance with joy, when knowing To whom my sparkling wave was flowing! Beneath his window would I glide, And linger there till morning-tide; When first he rouses him to dress In comely garb his manliness,— Then should he weak, or thirsty be, O he might stoop to drink of me! Or baring there his bosom, lave That bosom in my rippling wave. O what a bliss, if I could bear The cooling power of quiet there!