2.

O slim white Sail, whose every curve of grace
So fondly now I trace,
Each silver shape you try
Only to charm his eye
Ah, happy Sail! and fly,

Because you know, howe'er you strain, he still is with you steering—

Nay! but you only feel, slight Sail, the faint wind's fickle veering:—

That envied Wind! that hampered never
Might fondly fold my Love for ever
Wholly in one airy kiss;
Yet coldly can renounce such bliss,

And on your disenchanted way go heartlessly careering!