The Creole Maiden's Song to the Marvel of Peru, by Richard Hill
Wake up from thy sunset bower,
Spread thy leaves my pretty flower;
Spread thy leaves, unclose thine eyes,
For the silver moon doth rise,
And the golden stars are coming,
And the beetle's at his humming,
And the moth is from his bed,
And the cricket from his shed,
And the fire-fly comes to roam,
With his lanthorn-light from home,
Briskly wandering here and there,
Up and down and every where,
Whispering to each flower he sees,
What a night, without a breeze!