At the feast of the dead i watched thee

At the feast of the dead I watched thee

with the maidens in the Dance of Souls.

'T was there I watch'd thee

with maidens dancing.

The festal lights glimmer'd thro' the soft night

like floating fireflies.

Soft, slow was the dance,

soft, slow, gliding under the great moon.

Oh, my beloved, thou art like a bird,

like a bright bird, a bird with dancing wings, flying low.

And thy voice held all sweetness of all birds;

then, too, was holiday. But now?