Angélique

Have you seen Angélique, What way she went? A white robe she wore, A flickering light near spent Her pale hand bore.

Have you seen Angélique? Will she know the place Dead feet must find, The grave-cloth on her face To make her blind?

Have you seen Angélique. . . . At night I hear her moan, And I shiver in my bed; She wanders all alone, She cannot find the dead.