On A Heath by Thomas Hardy

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.