The Poets and Poetry of America/Serenade

Look out upon the stars, my love, And shame them with thine eyes, On which, than on the lights above, There hang more destinies. Night's beauty is the harmony Of blending shades and light; Then, Lady, up,—look out, and be A sister to the night!—

Sleep not!—thine image wakes for aye Within my watching breast: Sleep not!—from her soft sleep should fly, Who robs all hearts of rest. Nay, Lady, from thy slumbers break, And make this darkness gay, With looks, whose brightness well might make Of darker nights a day.