In Italy

By the low light of the moon, love,
By the low light of the moon,
From her enchanted swoon, love,
The cypress woke and sighed.
Beyond a wooded mountain, the sea that hath no tide
Murmured to the moon.

The wilding passion-flower, love,
The wilding passion-flower.
Dishevelled in her bower, love.
Whispered dewy-eyed.
And thou near vine-immantled column by my side
Whisperest, my flower !