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I come when the dew is bright on the rose, When the leaves of the languid violet close, When notes of the lute are heard on the wind, And their music for one, only one, is designed.

The hours of the day are of trouble and toil, Then fight they the battle, then part they the spoil; The hours of the midnight, O pale sleep, are thine, But one hour, the fairest, the dearest is mine.

Mine is the hour, the stolen, the sweet, When the young lover listens his maiden's light feet. There are planets in heaven as bright and as far, But which has the spell of the sweet evening star?