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Poem	O if it's true that in the night, When rest the living in their havens And liquid rays of lunar light Glide down on tombstones from the heavens, O if it's true that still and bare Are then the graves until aurora -- I call the shade, I wait for Laura: To me, my friend, appear, appear! Beloved shadow, come to me As at our parting -- wintry, ashen In your last minutes' agony; Emerge in any form or fashion: A distant star across the sphere, A gentle sound, a puff of air or The most appalling wraith of terror, I care not how: appear, appear!.. I call you -- not to speak my scorn Of people whose ill-fated malice Has killed my friend, and not to learn The secrets of the nether-palace, And not because a doubt may tear My heart at times... but as I suffer, I want to say that still I love her, That still I'm yours: appear, appear!
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