Ah, what am I but a torrent,
1
Headstrong, impetuous, broken,
Like the spent clamour of waters
Ah, what art thou but a fern-frond,
5
Wet with blown spray from the river,
Diffident, lovely, sequestered,
Yet, are we not for one brief day,
9
While the sun sleeps on the mountain,
Wild-hearted lover and loved one,