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