Should call thee forth to indulge its dream,—
Oh! go not there! though the moon from above,
Should beckon thee forth with her quivering beam.
For the flowers that grow in that silent spot,
With their lovely hues, are laden with tears,
And the birds that sing in that Fairy grot,
Will hasten away when the evening appears.
And the smile of Love will lose its light,
And the voice of the lover will lose its tone,—
And the stars that lumine the gloom of night,