Lo! ‘Neath the gibbous moon’s unhallowed glow,

Where specters wail upon the midnight’s air,

A wretched soul in tempest wonders slow,

With hollowed eyes and tangled blood-clad hair.

Betwixt yon yew, where ashen gravestones weep,

The damp earth groans ‘neath footsteps soft yet dire;

A voice unholy slithers from the deep,

A whispered dirge, the hymn of lost desire.

“What wretched fate hath summoned thee, this eve?

What sin, what oath, what deed of blackest stain?”

Quoth she, “Tis love—my heart did once believe,

Yet love did twist my soul to deathly bane.”

Then did the night in sorrow drink her breath—

And left but echoes, sighing love to death.