’Twas a year ago and the moon was bright

(Oh, I remember so well, so well);

I walked with my love in a sea of light,

And the voice of my sweet was a silver bell.

And sudden the moon grew strangely dull,

And sudden my love had taken wing;

I looked on the face of a grinning skull,

I strained to my heart a ghastly thing.

’Twas but fantasy, for my love lay still

In my arms, with her tender eyes aglow,

And she wondered why my lips were chill,

Why I was silent and kissed her so.

A year has gone and the moon is bright,

A gibbous moon, like a ghost of woe;

I sit by a new-made grave to-night,

And my heart is broken—it’s strange, you know.