ON A HEATH

I could hear a gown-skirt rustling

Before I could see her shape,

Rustling through the heather

That wove the common's drape,

On that evening of dark weather

When I hearkened, lips agape.

And the town-shine in the distance

Did but baffle here the sight,

And then a voice flew forward:

Dear, is't you? I fear the night!”

And the herons flapped to norward

In the firs upon my right.

There was another looming

Whose life we did not see;

There was one stilly blooming

Full nigh to where walked we;

There was a shade entombing

All that was bright of me.