On which, as they're merrily flowing and dancing,
The light of the stars is twinkling and glancing,
There's a charm in that silent midnight hour,
They only can tell who have felt its power.
There's a mystic spell in its silence sweet,
And a magic thrill through all who meet,
Where kindred thoughts together stray,
Whispering beneath pale Luna's ray;
Then is the time for poet's song,
When his voice on the zephyr is borne along,