At midnight during the autumn I stand,
Beneath the mystic moon she will emerge.
The dewy vapour soft and unplanned,
Exhaled from that golden globe’s verge;

The rosemary nods upon the grave;
As lilies floats on waves with icy urge,
A conscious slumber seems to take,
Beneath the mystic moon she will emerge;

The bodiless airs, as a wizard rout,
Ghosts the shadows rise and fall in moon’s light,
Flit through your darken’d chamber in and out,
Beneath the mystic moon she will emerge;

Far in the forest, trees tall dim and old,
For them some untold secret’s may unfold.