Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Middlemarch by George Eliot
Came a pretty maid
By the moon's pure light . . .
Loved me well, she said,
Eyes with tears all bright,
A pretty maid.

But too late she strayed,
Moonlight pure was there . . .
She was nought but shade,
Hiding the more fair,
The heav'nly maid.
Book: Middlemarch by George Eliot
Please log in to view and add comments on poems