Ye gentle gales

Ye gentle gales, that fan the air

And wanton in the flowery grove,

Oh, whisper to my absent fair

My secret pain, my endless love.

At the breezy close of day,

When she seeks some cool retreat,

Throw spicy odeurs in her way,

And scatter roses at her feet.

When she sees their colours fade,

And all their pride neglected lie,

Let it instruct the lovely maid

That sweets not gathered timely die.

When she lays her down to rest,

Let auspicious visions show

Who 'tis that loves Camilia best

And what for her I undergo.