O silver star,
That seeth far,
Tell my poor heart what she is doing;
And ease my pain,
Who would again
Be at her side, and still be wooing.
Does she regret
The token set
By me upon her slender finger?
Or in the dance
Do her eyes glance
At it sometimes,—and sometimes linger?
Be, silver star,
Particular,
And do not be afraid of hurting.
I know her well,
And truth to tell,
I fear my lady love is flirting.