The DÆmon Lover

Under the night,
In the white moonshine,
Sit thou with me,
By the graveyard tree,
Imogene.

The fire-flies swarm
In the white moonshine,
Each with its light
For our bridal night,
Imogene.

Blushing with love,
In the white moonshine,
Lie in my arms,
So, safe from alarms,
Imogene.

Paler art thou
Than the white moonshine.
Ho! thou art lost—
Thou lovest a Ghost,
Imogene.