No joy in the noonday light,
And but once mid my watchings and thoughts on thee
Sweet solace relieved me at night.
For I dreamt to the cry of “Lenore!” there came
A soft gentle voice that whispered my name.
Was it the last tones of his moving lay,
Reverberating from the rock behind,
Which gave that sound? He rose to pass away,
But ’twas repeated, and his startled mind
Heard feeble accents borne upon the wind