Say, my dear, O my dear,
These are the eves for speaking;
There is no wight will work us spite
Beneath the sunset's streaking.
Yes, my dear, O my dear,
These are the eves for telling;
To walk together in starry weather
Ere springs o’ the moon are welling.
O my dear, yes, my dear,
These are the dusks for staying;
When twilight dreams of night who seems
Among long-purples praying.
“No, my dear!” — “Yes, my dear!”
These are the nights to kiss it
Times twice-a-twenty: they grow a-plenty
On lips that will not miss it.