At twilight, past the fountain,
I wandered in the park,
And saw a closed white lily
Sway on the liquid dark;
And a fire-fly, perched upon it,
Shone out its fitful spark.
I fancied it a light-house
Mooned on a sky-like sea,
To warn the fearless sailors
Of lurking treachery —
Of unseen reefs and shallows
That starved for wrecks to be.
O Blanche, O love that spurns me,
‘ Tis but a cheat thou art.
I would some friendly light-house
Had warned me to depart
From the secret reefs and shallows
That hide about your heart.