When the first summer bee

    O'er the young rose shall hover,

  Then, like that gay rover,

    I'll come to thee.

He to flowers, I to lips, full of sweets to the brim—

What a meeting, what a meeting for me and for him!

  When the first summer bee, etc.

  Then, to every bright tree

    In the garden he'll wander;

    While I, oh, much fonder,

      Will stay with thee.

In search of new sweetness thro' thousands he'll run,

While I find the sweetness of thousands in one.

  Then, to every bright tree, etc.