When the stars threw down their spears, / And water'd heaven with their tears,

I do not care to talk to you although / Your speech evokes a thousand sympathies,

The sun was shining on the sea, / Shining with all his might

The old clock down in the parlor / Like a sleepless mourner grieves,

The leaves are little yellow fish / swimming in the river.

He would write, but his hours are as busy / As bees in the sun,

Oh, never, if I live to a million, / Shall I feel such a grievous pain.

My brain is fire--my heart is lead! / Her soul is flint, and what am I?

And then my heart with pleasure fills, / And dances with the daffodils.