html.skin-theme-clientpref-night @media(prefers-color-scheme:dark){html.skin-theme-clientpref-os }Wake, Lady, wake! the stars on high
Are twinkling in the vaulted sky,
The dew drops on the leafy spray
Are trembling in the moon's cold ray;
But what to me are dewy skies
And moon and stars, unless thine eyes
Will waken, to rival the heaven's blue,
And the stars and moon in their brightness too?
Wake, Lady, wake! the murmuring breeze
Is soft among the swaying trees;
And with the sound of brooks is heard
The note of evening's lonely bird:
But thy loved voice is sweeter far
Than whispering woods or breezes are,
Or the silver sound of the tinkling rill,
Or the plaintive call of the whippoorwill.
Wake, Lady! or my heart alone
Will, like a lute that's lost its tone,
To nature's touch refuse to sound,
While all her works rejoice around
How can I prize the brightest spot,
If I am there, but thou art not?
Then while through thy lattice the moonbeams break,
'Tis thy lover that calls thee, wake, Lady, wake!