Oh, Love! the Dew Lies on the Flower

And the stars gleam on the sea; It is the charm'd, the silent hour, When I should roam with thee. The day dies out within the West, The shadows gather near; And now sweet fancies fill my breast, And thou art strangely dear.

Behold! as yonder heavenly moon, Breaks through the dark-blue sky, And through night's deepest, stillest noon, That brightness will supply— Thy smile thus sheds its heavenly light Athwart life's deepest gloom,— Thus brightly gilds the spirit's night Its gentle beams illume.