THE DOVE SONG TO VICTOR HARRIS, New York City (In Song and Verse)
STILL is the night, while nature sleeps, And all at peace, the twinkling stars Are shining bright, guiding the night-bird On its lonely flight, to forests wild.
The faintest stirring of a breeze Steals silently among the trees. Rustling leaves awake the dove, Whose mournful cry is for its love. Then through the quiet night is heard The plaintive voice, the echoing word.
Coo, Coo, my love so true, My love so gentle, I would woo. Coo, Coo, I am thy mate Tho' e'er anon I do await, Coo, Coo, my love for you,
