When night brings the hour

  Of starlight and joy,

There comes to my bower

  A fairy-winged boy;

With eyes so bright,

  So full of wild arts,

Like nets of light,

  To tangle young hearts;

With lips, in whose keeping

  Love's secret may dwell,

Like Zephyr asleep in

  Some rosy sea-shell.

Guess who he is,

  Name but his name,

And his best kiss

  For reward you may claim.

Where'er o'er the ground

  He prints his light feet.

The flowers there are found

  Most shining and sweet:

His looks, as soft

  As lightning in May,

Tho' dangerous oft,

  Ne'er wound but in play:

And oh, when his wings

  Have brushed o'er my lyre,

You'd fancy its strings

  Were turning to fire.

Guess who he is,

  Name but his name,

And his best kiss

  For reward you may claim.