Or would I were a little burnish'd apple For you to pluck me, gliding by so cold, While sun and shade your robe of lawn will dapple, Your robe of lawn, and your hair's spun gold.
Vai arī es būtu mazs, grezns ābols, lai tu mani noplūktu, slīdot tik auksti, kamēr saule un ēna tavs zāliena halāts raibs, tavs zāliena halāts un tavi mati ir sagriezti zeltā.