All night she's been
love-making in the shades
with twilight men
who walk in Lethe's glades.
She has been happy there
with the amorous dead,
they have found her eyes still fair,
and her lips still red.
All night she's lain
by Lethe's dusky streams:

Arise, O dawn!
and tumble down her dreams.
For now the sun
steals past her waking eaves,
slumber is done,
the dawn-wind shakes the leaves,
and I have an earthly love
more sweet to tell
than the tales the sly tongues wove
in the glades of Hell.