A cold and passionless white mist
Creeps out of my heart
And twines itself about the moon,
And slipping down a silver ray
Turns into foam
To splash and rise again in glist'ning spray.

This spectre breath was born but late
When passion cooled,
Released his last salt waves within -
As when the sea looses her tide
Frees frantic waves
To play and splash in spray upon her side.

In and out among the clouds
It plays itself -
'Til finding one last burning star
Quenching the flame, and leaving instead
Cold ashes there - 
It whispers to my heart that love is dead!