Over the rim of the moon

Thro' the faintest filigree,
o-ver the dim waters go,
little ships of Arcady,
when the morning moon is low. 

I can hear the sailors' song
from the blue edge of the sea,
passing like the lights a-long
Thro' the dusky filigree

Then where moon and waters meet
sail by sail they pass away,
With little friendly winds replete
blowing from the breaking day

and when the little ships have flown,
Dreaming still of Arcady
I look across the waves, alone
in the misty filigree. 

Thro' the faintest filigree,
O-ver the dim waters go ... 
Little ships of Arcady
When the morning moon is low

Nothing but sweet music wakes
my Beloved, My Beloved,
sleeping by the blue lakes,
My own Beloved! 

Song of lark and song of thrush,
My Beloved! My Beloved! 
Sing in morning's rosy blush,
My own Beloved! 

When you eyes dawn blue and clear,
my Beloved! My Beloved! 
You will find me waiting here,
My own Beloved!

A blackbird singing
On a moss upholster'd stone,
Bluebells swinging,
Shadows wildly blown,

A song in the wood,
A ship on the sea,
The song was for you
and the ship was for me;

A blackbird singing,
I hear in my troubled mind,
Bluebells swinging
I see in a distant wind,

But sorrow and silence
are the wood's threnody,
the silence for you,
and the sorrow for me,

A blackbird singing

The rim of the moon
is over the corn. 
The beetle's drone
is above the thorn. 
Grey days come soon
and I am alone;
Can you hear my moan
where you rest, Aroon? 

When the wild tree bore
the deep blue cherry,
In night's deep pall
our love kissed merry. 
But you come no more
where its woodlands call,
and the grey days fall
on my grief, Asthore! 

The rim of the moon
is over the corn. 
The beetle's drone
is above the thorn. 
Grey days come soon
and I am alone;
Can you hear my moan
where you rest, Aroon?