Clear honor of the liquid element,
Sweet rivulet of shining silver sheen!
Whose waters steal along the meadows green,
With gentle step and murmur of content!

When she for whom I bear each fierce extreme,
Beholds herself in thee,—then Love doth trace
The snow and crimson of that lovely face
In the soft gentle movement of thy stream.

Then, smoothly flow as now, and set not free
The crystal curb and undulating rein
Which now thy current's headlong speed restrain;

Lest broken and confused the image rest
Of such rare charms on the deep-heaving breast
Of him who holds and sways the trident of the seas.