The Return Home, 28

I dreamt: the quivering moon gleam’d above,
And the stars cast a mournful ray;
I was borne to the town where dwelleth my love,
Many hundred miles away
And when I arrived at her dwelling so blest,
I kiss’d the stones of the stair,
Which her little foot so often had press’d,
And the train of her garment fair.

The night was long, the night was chill,
And cold were the stones that night;
Her pallid form from the window-sill
Look’d down in the moonbeam’s light.