The scent of burning sandal-wood
Perfumes the air in vain;
A sweeter odor fills my sense,
A fiercer fire my brain!

O, press your burning lips to mine! —
For mine will never part,
Until my heart has rifled all
The sweetness of your heart!

The lutes are playing on the lawn,
The moon is shining bright,
But we like stars are melting now
In clouds of soft delight!