I.

Young, and void of art or guile,
From ill intention free,
If love I've cherish'd all this while,
It came in spight of me.

When you've to me, and I've to you,
Try'd who could kindest prove,
If that was love — what then to do
To fly from this same love?

II.

When absent from you I have mourn'd,
And thought each hour a score;
When on a sudden you returned,
I've thrill'd with joy all o'er;

They say 'twas love — I thought 'twas you
Had made my heart thus move;
Alas what can a poor girl do,
To fly from this same love?

III.

To every thing that you can ask,
What should I say but yes?
It is because I like the task,
I freely grant each kiss.

You're all to me — I'm all to you —
This truth our deaths would prove,
Were we to part: — What then to do
To fly from this same love?