  At the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, I fly To the lone vale we loved, when life shone warm in thine eye; And I think oft, if spirits can steal from the regions of air And tell me our love is remembered even in the sky! Then I sing the wild song it once was rapture to hear When our voices, commingling, breathed like one on the ear; And as Echo far off through the vale my sad orison rolls, I think, O my love! 'tis thy voice from the kingdom of souls Faintly answering still the notes that once were so dear. Thomas Moore |
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