Up above on that window most white
I have guessed which flowers you keep.
You’re afraid, I suppose, that you might
Catch me wandering through sweetest sleep.
Now I walk amidst flowers most white
And behold the bright flashes of day,
May it be one of joy or of plight,
All the same will your kisses come play.
No sun’s love will you gain from afar,
For you fear to approach it and cheat.
That all-burning, all-wandering star
Cannot love you like my passion’s heat.
And this morn I came forth and I sang,
Pretend not you were deaf to your knight.
A voice lonely, replying, then rang,
And, aquiver, your flowers turned white.