The good die first, and they whose hearts are dry as summer dust, burn to the socket.
Prompt to move but firm to wait - knowing things rashly sought are rarely found.
By happy chance we saw A twofold image: on a grassy bank A snow-white ram, and in the crystal flood Another and the same!
For nature then to me was all in all.
Come grow old with me. The best is yet to be.
Serene will be our days, and bright and happy will our nature be, when love is an unerring light, and joy its own security.