Mathilde Blind

Song (Thou walkest with me as the spirit-light)

Thou walkest with me as the spirit-light
  Of the hushed moon, high o'er a snowy hill,
Walks with the houseless traveller all the night,
  When trees are tongueless and when mute the rill.
Moon of my soul, O phantasm of delight,
  Thou walkest with me still.

The vestal flame of quenchless memory burns
  In my soul's sanctuary. Yea, still for thee
My bitter heart hath yearned, as moonward yearns
  Each separate wave-pulse of the clamorous sea:
My Moon of love, to whom for ever turns
  The life that aches through me.