Something tapped on the pane of my room
  When there was never a trace
Of wind or rain, and I saw in the gloom
  My weary Beloved's face.

 "O I am tired of waiting," she said,
  "Night, morn, noon, afternoon;
So cold it is in my lonely bed,
  And I thought you would join me soon!" 

I rose and neared the window-glass,
   But vanished thence had she: 
Only a pallid moth, alas,
  Tapped at the pane for me.