Tinkle on, O sweet guitar, Let the dancing fingers Loiter where the low notes are Blended with the singer's: Let the midnight pour the moon's Mellow wine of glory Down upon him through the tune's Old romantic story!
I am listening, my love, Through the cautious lattice, Wondering why the stars above All are blinking at us; Wondering if his eyes from there Catch the moonbeam's shimmer As it lights the robe I wear With a ghostly glimmer.
Lilt thy song, and lute away In the wildest fashion: -- Pour thy rippling roundelay O'er the heights of passion! -- Flash it down the fretted strings Till thy mad lips, missing All but smothered whisperings, Press this rose I'm kissing.
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