When the shy star goes forth in heaven 
All maidenly, disconsolate, 
Hear you amid the drowsy even 
One who is singing by your gate. 
His song is softer than the dew 
And he is come to visit you. 

O bend no more in revery 
When he at eventide is calling. 
Nor muse: Who may this singer be 
Whose song about my heart is falling? 
Know you by this, the lover's chant, 
'Tis I that am your visitant.