To The Serenader.

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.