Three Songs

Ah, Sun-flower! weary of time,
Who countest the steps of the Sun;
Seeking after that sweet golden clime,
Where the traveller's journey is done:

Where the Youth pined away with desire,
And the pale Virgin shrouded in snow,
Arise from their graves and aspire
Where my Sun-flower wishes to go.

Never seek to tell thy love 
Love that never told [can]1 be;
For the gentle wind does move
Silently, invisibly.

I told my love, I told my love,
I told her all my heart,
[Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears]2 --
Ah, she [doth]3 depart.

Soon as she was gone from me
[A traveller came by]4
Silently, invisibly --
[He took her with a sigh]5.

How sweet is the Shepherd's sweet lot!
   From the morn to the evening he strays;
He shall follow his sheep all the day,
   And his tongue shall be fillèd with praise.

For he hears the lamb's innocent call,
   And he hears the ewe's tender reply;
He is watchful [while]1 they are in peace,
   For they know when their Shepherd is nigh.