They say that love is a fragile thing A limits when a magic ring made of gold They say that love is a bird in flight, A gleam of light, a star too bright to behold
Tell me, tell me, tell me oh child of the moon Is it as they say, must love slip away too soon
Tell me, Rima, where are the meadows of June Speaking with her eyes, softly she replies
“I know a place, where green mansions are As near or far, as any star up above And in this land of eternal spring Where humming birds can learn to sing Green groves, the mansions of love”