Page:Mercure de France tome 004 1892 page 202.jpg

Across the tides of music, in the night,
Her magical face,
A light upon it as the happy light
Of dreams in some delicious place
Under the moonlight in the night.

Music, soft throbbing music in the night,
Her memory swims
Into the brain, a carol of delight ;
The cup of music overbrims
With wine of memory, in the night.

Her face across the music, in the night,
Her face a refrain,
A light that sings along the waves of light,
A memory that returns again,
Music in music, in the night.

I dreamed that one had died in a strange place
 Near no accustomed hand,
And they had nailed the boards above her face,
 The peasants of that land,
And wondering, planted by her solitude
 A cypress and a yew.
I came and wrote upon a cross of wood
 — Man had no more to do —
"She was more beautiful than thy first love
 This lady by the trees,"
And gazed upon the mournful stars above
 And heard the mournful breeze.