To sighs of morning air, that froze,- (With her lips opened for a say), How curiously has smiled the rose On a September fleeting day! And how has she ever dared To greet, with air of springy queens, The single blue-tit, in the bare Shrubs fleshing in the orb of wings; To bloom with steadfast dream that later, Just leaving her cold bed in rest, She?ll cling, the last and dissipated, To a young hostess?s charming breast!