And if the moth that flits across the grass
Grows strangely shining, like a pearl with wings,
And tremulous and pale the shadows pass
Along a path where opalescence clings,
If clear enchantment shimmers there alone,
And not a sigh is mine that silver night,
And if a touch of lips unlike your own
Can wake in me the ribbons of delight,
Then surely I shall know the last decree:
That time and distance finally set me free.