Yet oft in the hush of the dim still night,
A vision of beauty I see,
Gliding soft to my bedside,—a phantom of light,
Dear, beautiful Deborah Lee,
My bride that was to be;
And I wake to mourn that the doctor and death,
And the cold March wind should stop the breath
Of my darling Deborah Lee—
Adorable Deborah Lee—
That angels should want her up in Heaven,