When the shy star goes forth in heaven

All maidenly, disconsolate,

Hear you amid the drowsy even

One who is singing by your gate.

His song is softer than the dew

And he is come to visit you.

O bend no more in revery

When he at eventide is calling.

Nor muse: Who may this singer be

Whose song about my heart is falling?

Know you by this, the lover’s chant,

‘Tis I that am your visitant.

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