There is a moonlit pathway in my dreams,
Which spreads before me, drenched in silvery light,
How phantomlike and sickly white it seems:
So walks the haunting image of my night.
But once, I think, I saw a ghostly light,
Adrift before me, walking on my trail.
I dared not call and scare it into flight–
But I could sense this apparition pale
Would drift before me endless, as a Grail;
But yet I did not step, and frozen there
I saw she was a figure, slim and frail,
A girl, with flowing robes and tender hair.
The phantom of my dreams has yet to stay,
And in the rays of daylight wisps away.