Thomas Hardy — On A Heath

I could hear a gown-skirt rustling         Before I could see her shape, Rustling through the heather         That wove the common's drape, On that evening of dark weather         When I hearkened, lips agape. And the town-shine in the distance         Did but baffle here the sight, And then a voice flew forward:         Dear, is't you? I fear the night!" And the herons flapped to norward         In the firs upon my right. There was another looming         Whose life we did not see; There was one stilly blooming         Full nigh to where walked we; There was a shade entombing         All that was bright of me.