Ii

The jasmine and bignonia spill Their balm about your windowsill; That sill where, when magnolia-white, In foliage mists, the moon hangs far, You lean with bright deep eyes of night, And hearken my guitar.

It is the hour When from each flower The wind woos essences-- Would, would you were the flower, love, And I the wind to breathe above, To breathe above and kiss, My love, To breathe above and kiss!