ST. MARTIN'S SUMMER
I know not which to credit,
0 lady of my heart!
Your eyes that bade me linger, Your words that bade us part—
I know not which to credit, My reason or my heart.
But be my hopes rewarded,
Or be they but in vain, I have dreamed a golden vision,
1 have gathered in the grain— I have dreamed a golden vision,
I have not lived in vain.
My first gift and my last, to you I dedicate this fascicle of songs— The only wealth I have: Just as they are, to you,
I speak the truth in soberness, and say I had rather bring a light to your clear eyes, Had rather hear you praise This bosomful of songs