In shadow half, half in the moonlight's glower,
Lifts slowly there.
A young girl's face, death makes mute marble of,
Turned to the moon and me,
Sad with the pathos of unspeakable love,
Floating to sea.
III
One listening bent, in dread of something coming
He can not flee nor balk—
A phantom footstep, in the ghostly gloaming,