The white moon rising over the hills,
And Night in her jewels clad.
If you were the Queen of Make-believe
And I were a Prince o' Dream,
We'd dress the world in a rich romance
With Pans a-piping and Queens that dance,
With plume and mantle and rapier glance
And Beauty's eyes a-gleam.
If I were a Poet, sweet, my own,
And you were my Lady true,