"Lo! the spirit he immures

Is as fragrant as a flower;

It will wither in an hour;

Surely he has stol'n the bliss,

For we know the odor is

Heliotrope."

Have you love and have you fear,

Heliotrope?

Has a dew-drop been thy tear?

Has the south-wind been thy sigh?

Let thy soul make mine reply,

By some sense, on brain or hand,

Let me know and understand,

Heliotrope.

In thy native land, Peru,

Heliotrope,

There are worshippers of light—

They might better worship you;

But they worship not as I.

You must tell her what I say,

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