Oh where art thou dreaming,
  On land, or on sea?
In my lattice is gleaming 
  The watch-light for thee;
And this fond heart is glowing
  To welcome thee home,
And the night is fast going,
  But thou art not come:
      No, thou com'st not!

'Tis the time when night flowers
  Should wake from their rest,
'Tis the hour of all hours
  When the lute singeth best,
But the flowers are half sleeping
  Till thy glance they see;
And the hushed lute is keeping
  Its music for thee.
      Yet thou com'st not!