The young May moon is beaming, love.
The glow-worm's lamp is gleaming, love.
How sweet to rove,
Through Morna's grove,
When drowsy world is dreaming, love!
Then awake! - - the heavens look bright, my dear,
And the best of all ways
To lengthen our days
Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear!
~ Thomas Moore ~