To Jane

Percy Bysshe Shelley

          The keen stars were twinkling
And the fair moon was rising among them,
               Dear Jane:
          The guitar was tinkling,
But the notes were not sweet till you sung them 
               Again.
          As the moon's soft splendor
O'er the faint cold starlight of heaven
               Is thrown,
          So your voice most tender
To the strings without soul had then given
               Its own.

          The stars will awaken,
Though the moon sleep a full hour later,
               Tonight;
          No leaf will be shaken
Whilst the dews of your melody scatter
               Delight.
     Though the sound overpowers,
Sing again, with your dear voice revealing
               A tone
          Of some world far from ours
Where music and moonlight and feeling
               Are one.

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