To Jane

    And the fair moon was rising among them，

    Dear Jane：

    The guitar was tinkling，

    But the notes were not sweet till you sung them

    Again.

    As the moon's soft splendor

    O'er the faint cold starlight of heaven

    Is thrown，

    So your voice most tender

    To the strings without soul had then given

    Its own.

    The stars will awaken，

    Though the moon sleep a full hour later，

    Tonight；

    No leaf will be shaken

    Whilst the dews of your melody scatter

    Delight.

    Though the sound overpowers，

    Sing again， with your dear voice revealing

    A tone

    Of some world far from ours

    Where music and moonlight and feeling

    Are one.