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.