Sighing softly to the river <br />Comes the loving breeze, <br />Setting nature all a-quiver, <br />Rustling through the trees! <br />And the brook in rippling measure <br />Laughs for very love, <br />While the poplars, in their pleasure, <br />Wave their arms above! <br />River, river, little river, <br />May thy loving prosper ever. <br />Heaven speed thee, poplar tree, <br />May thy wooing happy be! <br /> <br />Yet, the breeze is but a rover, <br />When he wings away, <br />Brook and poplar mourn a lover! <br />Sighing well-a-day! <br />Ah, the doing and undoing <br />That the rogue could tell! <br />When the breeze is out a-wooing, <br />Who can woo so well? <br />Pretty brook, thy dream is over, <br />For thy love is but a rover! <br />Sad the lot of poplar trees, <br />Courted by the fickle breeze!<br /><br />William Schwenck Gilbert<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-fickle-breeze/
