The wave is shivering, a silken length of
Mourning drapery unwinding in the night,
The deep wave, mute and black,
Where the moon suddenly casts its shine.

The moon draws forth from the deeps
Long frail flowers, so pale,
That rise, unfurl, and hail
The cold orb of intangible spendour.

Mysteriously opened,
Like a deadly omen,
Upon the wave and the moon, they place
Their white candlesticks, slender and pale.

And it seems to me from beyond life,
Yet close to my side,
That some strange being is spying on me,
Invisible in the light.