I begged a kiss of a little maid;
Shyly, sweetly, she consented;
Then of a sudden, all afraid,
After she gave it, she repented;
And now as penance for that one kiss
She asks a poem — I'll give her this.
But how can my song be my very best
When she, with a voice as soft as Circe's,
Has charmed the heart from my lonely breast —
The heart, the fountain of all true verses?
Why, oh, why should a maid do this?
No — I must give her back her kiss.
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