From early dawn to set of sun
  Working, her task was still undone;
  And the long thread seemed to increase
  Even while she spun and did not cease. 
  She heard the gentle turtle-dove
  Tell to its mate a tale of love;
  She saw the glancing swallows fly,
  Ever a social company;
  She knew each bird upon its nest
  Had cheering songs to bring it rest;
  None lived alone save only she;—­
  The wheel went round more wearily;
  She wept and said in undertone: 
  “Come, that I be no more alone.”

  Day followed day, and still she sighed
  For love, and was not satisfied;
  Until one night, when the moonlight
  Turned all the trees to silver white,
  She heard, what ne’er she heard before,
  A steady hand undo the door. 
  The nightingale since set of sun
  Her throbbing music had not done,
  And she had listened silently;
  But now the wind had changed, and she
  Heard the sweet song no more, but heard
  Beside her bed a whispered word: 
  “Damsel, rise up; be not afraid;
  For I am come at last,” it said.

  She trembled, tho’ the voice was mild;
  She trembled like a frightened child;—­
  Till she looked up, and then she saw
  The unknown speaker without awe. 
  He seemed a fair young man, his eyes
  Beaming with serious charities;
  His cheek was white, but hardly pale;
  And a dim glory like a veil
  Hovered about his head, and shone
  Thro’ the whole room till night was gone.

  So her fear fled; and then she said,
  Leaning upon her quiet bed: 
  “Now thou art come, I prithee stay,
  That I may see thee in the day,
  And learn to know thy voice, and hear
  It evermore calling me near.”

  He answered:  “Rise, and follow me.” 
  But she looked upwards wonderingly: 
  “And whither would’st thou go, friend? stay
  Until the dawning of the day.” 
  But he said:  “The wind ceaseth, Maid;
  Of chill nor damp be thou afraid.”

  She bound her hair up from the floor,
  And passed in silence from the door.

  So they went forth together, he
  Helping her forward tenderly. 
  The hedges bowed beneath his hand;
  Forth from the streams came the dry land
  As they passed over; evermore
  The pallid moonbeams shone before;
  And the wind hushed, and nothing stirred;
  Not even a solitary bird,
  Scared by their footsteps, fluttered by
  Where aspen-trees stood steadily.

  As they went on, at length a sound
  Came trembling on the air around;
  The undistinguishable hum
  Of life, voices that go and come
  Of busy men, and the child’s sweet
  High laugh, and noise of trampling feet.

  Then he said:  “Wilt thou go and see?”
  And she made answer joyfully;
  “The noise of life, of human life,
  Of dear communion without strife,
  Of converse held ’twixt friend and friend;
  Is it not here our path shall end?”
  He led her on a little way
  Until they reached a hillock:  “Stay.”