THE SERENADE. 'Tis midnight, and there is a world of stars And light up flower-gardens and green groves. For beauty's vigil, and to that pale cheek Sleep might give back the roses watching steals. On that pure brow: 'tis none of these that keep Hence is it that of the fair scene below The air that brought the sound upon the gale. Lady sweet, this is the hour Time's loveliest to me; For now my lute may breathe of love, All day I sought some trace of thine, But still to be where thou hast been I watched the blushing evening fling I saw it gradual fade, and saw, And very long it seemed to me Before her zenith hour, When sleep and shade conspire to hide |