I could hear a gown-skirt rustling
        Before I could see her shape,
Rustling through the heather
        That wove the common's drape,
On that evening of dark weather
        When I hearkened, lips agape.

And the town-shine in the distance
        Did but baffle here the sight,
And then a voice flew forward:
        Dear, is't you? I fear the night!"
And the herons flapped to norward
        In the firs upon my right.

There was another looming
        Whose life we did not see;
There was one stilly blooming
        Full nigh to where walked we;
There was a shade entombing
        All that was bright of me.