In airy dreams fond fancy flies,
⁠My absent love to see,
And with the early dawn I rise,
⁠Dear youth, to think of thee.

How swiftly flew the rosy hours,
⁠When hope and love were new;
Sweet was the time as op'ning flowers,
⁠But ah! 'twas transient too.

The moments now move slowly on,
⁠Until thy wish'd return;
I count them pensive and alone,
⁠As in the shades I mourn.

Return, return, my love, and charm
⁠Each anxious care to rest;
Thy voice shall every doubt disarm,
⁠And soothe my troubled breast.