To the Beloved

I dream of thee, beloved one, When the moon comes o'er the sea, And hangs her horns of silver, In yonder forest tree! I wake from out my slumber, I think I hear thy voice, It thrills my list'ning spirit, It makes my soul rejoice.

Oh love! thy fair, bright image, Is hov'ring near to mine, Oh love! I see thy passion, In those deep eyes of thine: Ah me! those bright eyes gleaming, Have bound my senses quite, Those eyes are o'er me beaming, The only stars of night.