étu my Caroline, étu. Forever. How soft the gentle roses touch Through thistle, fir, and sonorous thrush The mountain stream its course And you Caroline, étu. For loves unknown, all thats sweet, the fair Crowns your golden hair. The princess of the very air. What POWERS to possess every sutors stare. Nor splendor to depose you with unchaste grace But modesty ever upward begrace the dignity of a wild, holy place. Who unfolds the charms of careful woods in soft welcoming arms. Thy words are honey That heals lifes wounds, allays its harms. To you, étu. To you. Adieu.