When, just returning to the town,
I get these jacks from Jack?

Alas, for pleasure's giddy whirl,
For summer lost, alack!
He's off to see some other girl;
That's why mere jacks from Jack.




Hyacinths.

Hyacinths, tenderly sweet,
Is it life that you ask in your prayer?
Ah, I would die at her feet,
If I could be one of you there.

There on her billowy breast,
So near to her innocent heart,
That its beating would lull me to rest,
And to dream I should never depart.

Sighing are you for the stars?
Look in the depths of her eyes.
Is there a gem of the Czar's
So much like those gems of the skies?

Is it the dew that you miss?
Hyacinths, hyacinths, wait.