Strange fits of passion have I known:
And I will dare to tell,
But in the Lover's ear alone,
What once to me befell.

When she I lov'd looked every day
Fresh as a rose in June,
I to her cottage bent my way
Beneath an evening moon.

Upon the moon I fix'd my eye,
All over the wide lea;
With quickening pace my horse drew nigh
Those paths so dear to me.

And now we reach'd the orchard plot;
And, as we climb'd the hill,
The sinking moon to Lucy's cot
Came near, and nearer still.

In one of those sweet dreams I slept,
Kind Nature's gentlest boon!
And all the while my eyes I kept
On the descending moon.

My horse mov'd on: hoof after hoof
He rais'd, and never stopp'd:
When down behind the cottage roof,
At once, the bright moon dropped.

What fond and wayward thooughts will slide
Into a Lover's head!
"O mercy!" to myself I cried,
"If Lucy should be dead!"