How sweet, when solemn silence reigns around,
When twilight shadows lengthen o'er the ground,
To wander through the sweetly scented grove
And listen to the voice of one we love.
The nightingale pours forth among the trees
Her plaintive music on the passing breeze;
The dreary murmur of the prattling rill
Falling upon the ear so soft and still,
The star of evening twinkling in the west —
All these beget within the lover's breast
Sweet dreams of bliss and never-ending rest.

Sweet hour of twilight, when the broad big sun
Sinks down to rest, his course of beauty run;
When fairies glide along the silent streams,
And bathe their beauty in the pale moonbeams;
When Poets' spirits leave the earth and rise
To scenes of glory 'mong the starry skies!
Oh, how I love to wander at that hour,
When dews are falling on the closing flower,
With thee of beauty's crown the brightest gem,
A peerless pearl in nature's diadem; —
To feel the unalloyed, enraptured bliss
That thrills my heart at beauty's magic kiss;
To clasp the form that makes my soul rejoice,
Or list the strains seraphic of thy voice;
To gaze in rapture at thy soft blue eyes,
Or scan the glorious star-bespangled skies;
O sweetest hour for friendship or for love,
A foretaste of the joys of heaven above!