THE HEAD ABOVE THE FOG

Something do I see

Above the fog that sheets the mead,

A figure like to life indeed,

Moving along with spectre-speed,

Seen by none but me.

O the vision keen! -

Tripping along to me for love

As in the flesh it used to move,

Only its hat and plume above

The evening fog-fleece seen.

In the day-fall wan,

When nighted birds break off their song,

Mere ghostly head it skims along,

Just as it did when warm and strong,

Body seeming gone.

Such it is I see

Above the fog that sheets the mead -

Yea, that which once could breathe and plead! -

Skimming along with spectre-speed

To a last tryst with me.