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When the dews fell thick and the moon was full;
And three times it clipped a dead man's skull—
And three times it lay pillowed under this cheek,
And lips that would, but could not speak,
Where its bloom was preserved, by tears freshly shed,
From a bursting heart's fond fountain head.
Take these gifts, then, ere ye go,
Or my heart will break with its weight of woe,
Oh, misery!
To love, and yet to be slighted so,
Sad misery.
Spirits of Light! Spirits of Shade!
Once more thus prays your love-stricken maid:
Dig out, and spread in the white moonshine,
A goodly couch for these limbs of mine;
Fast by the roots of this stately tree,
And three fathoms deep that couch must be.
And lightly strew o'er her the withered leaf;
Meet shroud for maiden mild 'twill prove;
And as it falls it will lull her grief,
With gentlest rustlings, breathing love.
Then choose a turf that is wondrous light,
And lap it softly o'er this breast;
