By Theo Marzials
And then it seem’d I was a bird
That dipt along the silent street.
In that strange midnight nothing stir’d,
And all was moonlight, still and sweet.
By lofty vane and roof and loft,
Aloof, aloft, where shadows hung,
Down ghostly ways that wafted soft,
Warm echoes where I sank and sung;
And lower yet by ﬂower-set sill,
And close against her window-bars,
And still the moonlight ﬂowed, and still,
The still dew lit the jessamine stars;
And oh! I beat against the pane,
And oh! I sang so sweet, so clear,—
I heard her wake, and pause again,
Then nearer, nearer—killing near;
And back she ﬂung the window-rod,
The moonlight swept in, like a stream;
She drew me to her neck—Oh! God,
’Twas then I knew it was a dream!