We stood by the river that swept
  In its glory and grandeur away;
But never a pulse of me leapt,
  And you wondered at me that day.

We stood by the lake as it lay
  With its dimpled face turned to the light;
Was it strange I had nothing to say
  To so fair and enchanting a sight?

I look on your tresses of gold--
  You are fair and thing to be loved--
Do you think I am heartless and cold
  That I look and am wholly unmoved?

One answer, dear friend, I will make
  To the questions your eyes ask of me:
"Talk not of the river or lake
  To those who have looked on the sea."