The light winged dryad; unruly sage,
That hovers over a time forgone,
Swifter than the keen spears in rage,
Wanders whimsically, when all alone.
Thou findst a place to rest thy wings;
Hardly a rapture, but so oft anguish;
All the weary moments full of sufferings,
Yet to flee the despair, thou seems languish.
When my soul is so vexed and retards
And my heart could bear no any tide,
Wishes my soul to swim in Lethe Wards
And let thy pain to dissolve and hide.
Thou, when will thee ever learn
To find a path more pleasant and capture
The harmonious bliss of love and concern
To dwell forever in eternal rapture