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Poem	'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.
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