The moon is too bright tonight, my love
I cannot see your face.
A trembling vale of sinister shadows
Has cooled your embrace.
The sky is too still this eve, my dear
No twinkling stars above.
The deepest, farthest, blackest night
Is closer than your love.
The wind blows too warm this hour, my sweet
Each gust a sultry breath,
Not of an angel or fairy, though.
It is the sigh of death.
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