To Emily
Mounted on her sable steed,
Fleeing fast before the light,
I caught a glimpse despite her speed
Of the sombre lady Night.
Soon she vanished from my sight,
Though the land not yet awake
Bore a token of her flight:
A cloudy veil curled in her wake.
As I glided through this lake,
Misty ripples swirled and broke
Till my limbs began to shake
From their soft yet frosty stroke.
When before me stood an oak,
Branches clawing in despair,
Clutching at the wispy cloak
Drifting in the morning air.
But the cloud would only tear
Like a shroud in Time's embrace,
Sifting through the wooden snare,
And dissolve without a trace.
Loving arms did I then lace
Round his rough and sturdy waist,
Seeking comfort in his grace
While together dawn we faced.






France



