Serenade

At that hour when all things have repose,
    O lonely watcher of the skies, 
    Do you hear the night wind and the sighs 
Of harps playing unto Love to unclose
    The pale gates of sunrise?

When all things repose, do you alone
    Awake to hear the sweet harps play 
    To Love before him on his way, 
And the night wind answering in antiphon
    Till night is overgone?

Play on, invisible harps, unto Love,
    Whose way in heaven is aglow 
    At that hour when soft lights come and go, 
Soft sweet music in the air above
    And in the earth below.

 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.

The twilight turns from amethyst 
  To deep and deeper blue, 
The lamp fills with a pale green glow 
  The trees of the avenue. 

The old piano plays an air, 
  Sedate and slow and gay; 
She bends upon the yellow keys, 
  Her head inclines this way. 

Shy thoughts and grave wide eyes and hands 
  That wander as they list? 
The twilight turns to darker blue 
  With lights of amethyst.