Where oft she'd kept a tryst with him,
She nightly comes a-roaming;
And, sorrowing still, yet finds content,
I fancy, where "Sweet Themmes" is blent
With flower-beds and the gloaming.
Ah me, the leaf is down to-day;
Does still the little phantom stray,
Poor pretty ghost, a-shiver,
When sad flowers droop their weary heads
Along the chill Autumnal beds