My heart that burns like the noon-tide,
Has waited the long day through,
And still in the gloaming I long for your coming,
As flowers faint for the dew.

Oh! come in the cool of the ev'ning,
Like a soft wind out of the west;
Oh! come like the swallow that flies o'er the fallow,
Homeward at night to the nest.

The nightingale in the garden
Cries "Look, look, look, truant love;
The pale stars glimmer, the moonbeams shimmer,
And glide through the leaves above."

Ah me! but the midnight passes,
I linger and know not why;
Though you come never, I hope for ever,
For a lover must hope or die.