Before the open lattice and speak to him below.
The Moor is filled with desperate rage, for he sees the hour is fled
When day by day the dazzling ray of sunlight gilds that head,
And he stops to brood in desperate mood, for her alone he yearns
Can aught soothe the fire of fierce desire with which his bosom burns.
At last he sees her moving with all her wonted grace,
He sees her and he hastens to their old trysting-place;
For as the moon when night is dark and clouds of tempest fly
Rises behind the dim-lit wood and lights the midnight sky,
Or like the sun when tempests with inky clouds prevail,