Mon cher Monsieur le Secretaire,
Your song flits with me everywhere;
It lights on Fancy's prow and sings
Me on divinest voyagings:
And when my ruler love would fain
Be laid upon it — high again
It mounts, and hugs itself from me
With rapturous wings — still dwindlingly —
On!— on! till but a ghost is there
Of song, Monsieur le Secretaire!