To Jane

    And the fair moon was rising among them，

    Dear Jane：

    The guitar was tinkling¹，

    But the notes were not sweet till you sung them

    Again.

    As the moon's soft splendor²

    O'er the faint cold starlight of heaven

    Is thrown，

    So your voice most tender

    To the strings³ without soul had then given

    Its own.

    The stars will awaken⁴，

    Though the moon sleep a full hour later，

    Tonight；

    No leaf will be shaken

    Whilst the dews of your melody scatter⁵

    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.