Thomas Hardy — The Head Above The Fog

        Something do I see Above the fog that sheets the mead, A figure like to life indeed, Moving along with spectre-speed,         Seen by none but me.         O the vision keen! - Tripping along to me for love As in the flesh it used to move, Only its hat and plume above         The evening fog-fleece seen.         In the day-fall wan, When nighted birds break off their song, Mere ghostly head it skims along, Just as it did when warm and strong,         Body seeming gone.         Such it is I see Above the fog that sheets the mead - Yea, that which once could breathe and plead! - Skimming along with spectre-speed         To a last tryst with me.