Tree at my window, window tree, My sash is lowered when night comes on; But let there never be curtain drawn Between you and me.

Oh, give us pleasure in the orch-ard white, Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night.

The mind-is not the heart. I may yet live, as I know others live, To wish in vain to let go with the mind- Of cares, at night, to sleep; but nothing tells me That I need learn to let go with the heart.

A voice said, Look me in the stars And tell me truly, men of earth, If all the soul-and-body scars Were not too much to pay for birth.

The Night is young & full of rest, I can't describe the way she's dress'd, She'll pander to some strange requests, Anything that you suggest, Anything to please her guest.

The same stream of life that runs through the world runs through my veins night and day.