Here In This Gold-Green Evening End, While Air Is Soft And Sky Is Clear, What Tender Message Shall I Send To Her I Hold So Dear? What Rose Of Song With Breath Like Myrrh, And Leaf Of Dew And Fair Pure Beams Shall I Select And Give To Her The Lady Of My Dreams? Alas! The Blossom I Would Take, The Song As Sweet As Persian Speech, And Carry For My Lady'S Sake, Is Not Within My Reach. I Have No Perfect Gift Of Words, Or I Would Hasten Now To Send A Ballad Full Of Tunes Of Birds To Please My Lovely Friend. But This Pure Pleasure Is My Own, That I Have Power To Waft Away A Hope As Bright As Heaven'S Zone On This Her Natal Day. May All Her Life Be Like The Light That Softens Down In Spheres Divine, 'As Lovely As A Lapland Night,' All Grace And Chastened Shine!