Fades the star of morning,
West winds gently blow,
Soft the pine-trees murmur,
Soft the waters flow.
Lift thine eyes, my maiden,
To the hill-top nigh,—
Gloom and fear will vanish
When the pale stars die;—
Lift thine eyes, my maiden,
Hear thy lover's cry!
From my tent I wander
Longing but for thee,
As the day from darkness
Comes the earth to see.
Lift thine eyes, my maiden,
To the hill-top nigh,—
Lo, the dawn is breaking;
Rosy beams the sky;—
Lift thine eyes, my maiden,
Hear thy lover's cry!
Lonely is our valley
Though the month is May;
Come and be my moonlight,
I will be thy day!—
Lift thine eyes, my maiden,
O behold me nigh!
Now the sun is rising;
Now the shadows fly;
Lift thine eyes, my maiden,
Hear thy lover's cry!