The blue waves are sleeping;
    The breezes are still;
The light dews are weeping
    Soft tears On the hill;
The moon in mild beauty,
    Looks bright from above;
Then come to the casement,
    Oh Mary my love.

Not a sound, or a motion
      Is over the lake,
But the whisper of ripples,
    As shoreward they break;
My skiff wakes no ruffle
    The waters among,
Then listen dear maid
    To thy true lover’s song.

No form from the lattice
    Did ever recline,
Over Italy’s waters,
    More lovely than thine;
Then come to the window
    And shed from above,
One glance of thy dark eye,
    One smile of thy love.

Oh! the soul of that eye
    When it breaks from its shroud,
Shines beauteously but,
    Like the Moon from a cloud;
And thy whisper of love
    Breathed thus from afar,
Is sweeter to me
    Than the sweetest guitar.

From the storms of this world
    How gladly I’d fly,
To the calm of that breast,
    To the heaven of that eye;
How deeply I love thee
    ’Twere useless to tell;
Farewell then my dear one,
    My Mary, farewell.