_And the moon hangs low in the elm._
Her wandering lover knew not well her soul.
Discouraged, on disaster's changing shoal
Stranding, he waited; starved on selfish pride,
Long years; nor would obey love's homeward tide.
_And the moon hangs low in the elm._
But, bitterly repenting of his sin,
Deeper at last he learned to look within
Sweet Jessamine's true heart--when the past, dead,
Mocked him with wasted years forever fled.
_And the moon hangs low in the elm._
Late, late, oh late, beneath the tree stood two;
In trembling joy, and wondering "Is it true?"--
Two that were each like some strange, misty wraith:
Yet each on each gazed with a living faith.
_And the moon hangs low in the elm._
Even to the tree-top sang the wedding-bell:
Even to the tree-top tolled the passing knell.
Beneath it Walt and Jessamine were wed,
Beneath it many a year has she lain dead.
_And the moon hangs low in the elm._
Here stands the great tree, still. But age has crept
Through every coil, while Walt each night has kept
The tryst alone. Hark! with what windy might
The boughs chant o'er her grave their burial-rite!
_And the moon hangs low in the elm.
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