At Midnight

At midnight in the trysting wood I wandered by the waterside, When, soft as mist, before me stood My sweetheart who had died. But so unchanged was she, meseemed That I had only dreamed her dead; Glad in her eyes the love-light gleamed; Her lips were warm and red. What though the stars shone shadowy through Her form as by my side she went, And by her feet no dropp of dew Was stirred, no blade was bent! What though through her white loveliness The wildflower dimmed, the moonlight paled, Real to my touch she was; no less Than when the earth prevailed. She took my hand. My heart beat wild. She kissed my mouth. I bowed my head. Then gazing in my eyes, she smiled: 'When did'st thou die?' she said.