Poems (Cary)/The Lover's Vision

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THE LOVER'S VISION.
The mist o'er the dark woods Hangs whiter than snow,And the dead leaves keep surging And moaning below!What treads through their dim aisles? Now answer me fair—'T is not the bat's flabby wing Beating the air!
A sweet vision rises, Though dimly defined,And a hand on my forehead Lies cold as the wind!I clasp the white bosom, No heart beats beneath;From the lips, once so lovely, Forth issues no breath.
The red moon was climbing The rough rocks behind,And the dead leaves kept moaning, As now, in the wind; ​The white stars were shining Through cloud-rifts above,When first in these dim woods I told her my love.
Half fond, half reproachful, She gazed in my face,And, shrinking, she suffered My fervid embrace:And speaking not, lingered With love's bashful art,Till the light of her dark eyes Burned down to my heart!
Like the leaf of the lily When Autumn is chill,The little hand trembled That now is so still:And I knew the sweet passion, Her lips only sighedIn the hush of her chamber— The night that she died!
O'er the shroud of the pale one I made then a vowTo kiss back the crimson Of life to her brow,If she from the still grave Would come, as she hath,And walk at the midnight This lone forest path.
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The cloud-rifts are closing, The white stars are gone,But the hushed step of Darkness Moves solemnly on.I call the dead maiden, But win no reply—She has gone, and for ever,— Would I too could die.

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