Over her house there looks a little hill;
Thither I wandered blindly, to outwear
The aching length of night with my despair,
And strive to find some solace for my ill.
Cold, like false tears, the dew shone thick and still,
The malicious moon, most feminine and fair,
Smiled in cold mockery, the dispiteous air
About my naked heart moved sharp and chill;
While, like the wailing ghosts of wretched lovers,
Who, ranging sadly on the Stygian shore,
Echo the hopeless moan, " No more, no more, "
With the monotonous mouth of misery
The dreadful damned interminable plovers
Vexed midnight with their melancholy cry.