Under my casement, as I pray,

My lover sings my cares away

With many a half-forgotten lay.

He leans against the linden-tree,

And sings old songs of Arcady

That he knows well are loved by me.

Half through the night the sweet strains float

Like wind-blown rose-leaves, note by note,

Over the great wall and the moat,

Up to my window, till they teem

Into my soul, and almost seem

To be there even when I dream.

And his heart trembling beats with bliss

If I but throw him one small kiss

Just as I now throw this, and this