And all that's beautiful and bright
Is shining in our world to-night,
Save thy bright eyes,
Wake, Lady! wake! the nightingale
Tells to the Moon her love-lorn tale;
Now doth the brook that's hush'd by day,
As through the vale she winds her way,
In murmurs sweet rejoice;
The leaves, by the soft night-wind stirr'd,
Are whispering many a gentle word,