I dare not look away
From beauty such as this,
Lest, while my glance should stray,
Some loveliness I miss.
The trees might choose to print
Their shadow on the lake;
The windless air might glint
With aspen leaves that shake.
Over the mountains there
A thin blue veil might drift;
Then in a moment rare
This thin blue veil might lift.
Ah, I must pay good heed
To beauty such as this,
Lest, in some hour of need,
Its loveliness I miss.