The Mist Maiden
Is it an idle fantasy,
That in the twilight's violet gloom,
When waves are singing out at sea,
And shadows fill the room,--
The mist assumes before my gaze,
A human form of exquisite grace,
And by the melancholy haze,
Is veiled a peerless face?--
A maiden loved when life was new,
Her soul was trust, her eyes a prayer;
She faded quite. Can it be true
I see her in the air?
Her eyes are crystals, dropping tears,
Her hair reflects the silver moon;
Will ecstasy or sudden fears
Conquer my heart more soon?
She stands in statuesque repose,
A chiseled vision, calm and fair;
She smiles: my full heart overflows,
The maid dissolves in air.