To The Serenader

Tinkle on, O sweet guitar, Let the dancing fingers Loiter where the low notes are Blended with the singer's: Let the midnight pour the moon's Mellow wine of glory Down upon him through the tune's Old romantic story! I am listening, my love, Through the cautious lattice, Wondering why the stars above All are blinking at us; Wondering if his eyes from there Catch the moonbeam's shimmer As it lights the robe I wear With a ghostly glimmer. Lilt thy song, and lute away In the wildest fashion:-- Pour thy rippling roundelay O'er the heights of passion!-- Flash it down the fretted strings Till thy mad lips, missing All but smothered whisperings, Press this rose I'm kissing.