Strange Fits Of Passion

    And I will dare to tell，

    But in the lover's ear alone，

    What once to me befell.

    When she I loved looked every day

    Fresh as a rose in June，

    I to her cottage bent my way，

    Beneath an evening-moon.

    Upon the moon I fixed my eye，

    All over the wide lea；

    With quickening pace my horse drew nigh

    Those paths so dear to me.

    And now we reached the orchard-plot；

    And， as we climbed the hill，

    The sinking moon to Lucy's cot

    Came near， and nearer still.

    In one of those sweet dreams I slept，

    Kind Nature's gentlest boon！

    And all the while my eye I kept

    On the descending moon.

    My horse moved on； hoof after hoof

    He raised， and never stopped：

    When down behind the cottage roof，

    At once， the bright moon dropped.

    What fond and wayward thoughts will slide

    Into a Lover's head！

    "O mercy！" to myself I cried，

    "If Lucy hould be dead！"