Was it you in the Night pacing the Moors so drear;
And rattling the latch on the Windows near?
To shake this old House with your unsettled breath;
A tired restless Shade seeming stirred out of death.
To extinguish all Candles, for life is a flame;
But what is a life to a Spirit in Pain?
And set Creaking old Beams that channel your voice;
To speak of a Love and it\'s detestable choice.
And was your old temper within the Mad Gale;
That Hammered the doors with a tearful tale
Of a Violent Love that grew in years;
And sentened this Heart to torrent of tears.
For I saw you that time in your deathly cold rest;
Long past was the force that departed your breast.
Now you ride over Moors by a Spectral pale light,
To shake the sad trees and Walls of the Heights;
As I waste upon waste my miserable frame-
In the long fevered hope of a reunion again.