The keen stars were twinkling
 And the fair moon was rising among them,
           Dear Jane:
      The harp was tinkling,
 But the notes were not clear till you sang them
           Again.
      As the moon's soft splendor
 O'er the faint cold starlight of heaven
           Is thrown,
      So your voice most tender
 To the strings without soul had then given
           Its own.

      The stars will awaken,
 Though the moon sleep a full hour later,
           Tonight;
      No leaf will be shaken
 Whilst the dews of your melody scatter
           Delight.
      Though the sound overpowers,
 Sing again, with your dear voice revealing
           A tone
      Of some world far from ours
 Where music and moonlight and feeling
           Are one.