The stars hang thick in the apple tree,
The south wind smells of the pungent¹ sea,
Gold tulip cups are heavy with dew.
The night's for you, Sweetheart, for you!
Starfire rains from the vaulted² blue.
Listen!  The dancing of unseen leaves.
A drowsy³ swallow stirs in the eaves.
Only a maiden⁴ is sorrowing.
'T is night and spring, Sweetheart, and spring!
Starfire lights your heart's blossoming.
In the intimate dark there's never an ear,
Though the tulips stand on tiptoe to hear,
So give; ripe fruit must shrivel or fall.
As you are mine, Sweetheart, give all!
Starfire sparkles, your coronal.

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