ALONE across the silver-fretted skies
Walked the white moon; attendant wreaths of cloud
Wrapt her still steps, and downward to the sea
Her shadowed light descended brokenly;
A sad and lonely sight unto her eyes
That joyful watched the day-spring's promise proud,
Then saw day fade in dark, and mists enshroud
The path wherein the pallid moon must rise.

Perdita, standing on the night-black marge,
Gazed down upon the waters' constant change,
Shuddering with fear before that passage strange
Over the ocean's dark uncertain floor;
She saw no rudder in the waiting barge,
No beaconing light upon that farther shore.