The rose is weeping for her love,
  The nightingale;
And he is flying fast above,
  To her he will not fail.
Already golden eve appears,
  He wings his way along;
Ah! look, he comes to kiss her tears,
  And soothe her with his song.

The moon in pearly light may steep
  The still blue air;
The rose hath ceased to droop and weep,
  For lo! her love is there.
He sings to her, and o'er the trees
  She hears his sweet notes swim;
The world may weary; she but sees
  Her love, and hears but him.