Those dreaming eyes

Thou doest not know, how brightly gleam

those dreaming eyes, those dreaming eyes,

lovely as springtime's early beam

and clear as autumn's cloudless skies.

Thou hast not felt the blighting charm,

that in their orbs bewitching lies,

thou doest not know, how sorely harm

those dreaming eyes, those dreaming eyes.

Look to my soul's enchanted shrine,

where dim despair bewails and sighs.

What made me suffer and repine?

What wrecked my peace? Those dreaming eyes.

My trembling hope, struck to the core,

looks up to them and groans and dies,

and yet, though hopeless, I adore

those dreaming eyes, those dreaming eyes.