Something do I see
Above the fog that sheets the mead,
A figure like to life indeed,
Moving along with spectre-speed,
        Seen by none but me.

        O the vision keen! -
Tripping along to me for love
As in the flesh it used to move,
Only its hat and plume above
        The evening fog-fleece seen.

        In the day-fall wan,
When nighted birds break off their song,
Mere ghostly head it skims along,
Just as it did when warm and strong,
        Body seeming gone.

        Such it is I see
Above the fog that sheets the mead -
Yea, that which once could breathe and plead! -
Skimming along with spectre-speed
        To a last tryst with me.