Iii

Once when the moon rose, fair and full,-- Like some sea-seen Hesperian pool, A splash of gold through tangling trees,-- Or like the Island beautiful Of Avalon in haunted seas,-- There came a sighing in the trees As of sad lips; there was no breeze, And yet sad sighings shook the trees. And when, all in a mystic space, Her orb swam, amiable white, Right in that shattered casement, by The broken porch the creepers lace, Born of a moonbeam and a sigh, I saw her face, Pale through a mist of tears; so slight, So immaterial, ah me! In pensiveness, and vanished grace, 'Twas like an olden melody.