The moon shone bright one cloudless night

The moon shone bright one cloudless night,
The earth was bathed in silver light.
I strolled along, quite tired of life,
I longed to rid myself of strife.
In vain I struggled to forget,
Oh, how I loathed the day we met.

I came upon a mansion bright,
From every window streamed the light;
Sweet strains of music reached my ear,
And peals of laughter loud and clear.
"Ah! this gay throng, I quickly see,
Would be no place for woeful me."

I hurried on. But hark! Just see,
Who is this walks yon balcony
All clothed in pure, seraphic white?—
I know that form, e'en though 'tis night.
I've heard that voice,—can it be true?
My Imogene, say—is it you?

Be still, she speaks; my God! 'tis she!
Oh, list! my darling speaks of me,—
Of me, whom I believed she loathed;
Oh, can it be her love was clothed
Within a garb of blackest hate?
But now the knowledge comes too late.

"O love, come back!" I hear her cry,
"My Waldershaw, for thee I sigh!
My heart was thine long years ago,
Didst thou not see? Didst thou not know?
Alas! I kept the secret well,—
This love will be my funeral knell."

She wrings her hands in silent woe;
O God! I watch her shadow go
From off the lonely balcony,
And leave me sighing mournfully.
A still, small voice I've learned to hate,
Within me whispered, "T'is—too late."