The twilight dusked; and we heard from the mere
The distant boom of a bittern come.
Would you think that she loved me?—Who could say?—
What a riddle unread was she to me!—
When I kissed her fingers and turned away
I wanted to speak, but—what cared she,
Though her eyes looked soft and she bade me stay!
Though she lingered to watch me—That might be
A slim moonbeam or a shred of haze,—
But never my Lady's drapery