Something tapped on the pane of my room
        When there was never a trace
Of wind or rain, and I saw in the gloom
        My weary Beloved's face.

"O I am tired of waiting," she said,
        "Night, morn, noon, afternoon;
So cold it is in my lonely bed,
        And I thought you would join me soon!"

I rose and neared the window-glass,
        But vanished thence had she:
Only a pallid moth, alas,
        Tapped at the pane for me.

August 1913.