Gathering from each alike a perfect white,
Whose rich bloom breaks opaque through darkest night.
_And the moon hangs low in the elm_.

And for this sweetness Walt, her lover, sought
To win her; wooed her here, his heart full-fraught
With fragrance of her being, and gained his plea.
So "We will wed," they said, "beneath this tree."
_And the moon hangs low in the elm_.

Was it unfaith, or faith more full to her,
Made him, for fame and fortune longing, spur
Into the world? Far from his home he sailed:
And life paused; while she watched joy vanish, vailed.
_And the moon hangs low in the elm_.

Oh, better at the elm tree's sun-browned feet
If he had been content to let life fleet
Its wonted way!--there rearing his small house;
Mowing and milking, lord of corn and cows!
_And the moon hangs low in the elm_.

For as against a snarling sea one steers,
Ever he battled with the beetling years;
And ever Jessamine must watch and pine,
Her vision bounded by the bleak sea-line.
_And the moon hangs low in the elm_.

At last she heard no more. The neighbors said
That Walt had married, faithless, or was dead.