WHEN NIGHT BRINGS THE HOUR.

When night brings the hour

Of starlight and joy,

There comes to my bower

A fairy-winged boy;

With eyes so bright,

So full of wild arts,

Like nets of light,

To tangle young hearts;

With lips, in whose keeping

Love's secret may dwell,

Like Zephyr asleep in

Some rosy sea-shell.

Guess who he is,

Name but his name,

And his best kiss

For reward you may claim.

Where'er o'er the ground

He prints his light feet.

The flowers there are found

Most shining and sweet:

His looks, as soft

As lightning in May,

Tho’ dangerous oft,

Ne'er wound but in play:

And oh, when his wings

Have brushed o'er my lyre,

You'd fancy its strings

Were turning to fire.

Guess who he is,

Name but his name,

And his best kiss

For reward you may claim.