Down through the dark magnolia leaves
Where climbs the rose of Cherokee
Against the orange-blossomed tree,
A loom of moonlight weaves and weaves,--
A loom of moonlight, weaving clothes
From snow-white rose of Cherokee,
And bridal blooms of orange-tree,
For fairy folk in fragrant rose.
Down through the mournful myrtle crape,
Through moving moss, through ghostly gloom,
A long white moonbeam takes a shape
Above a nameless, lowly tomb;
A long white finger through the gloom
Of grasses gathered round about,--
As God's white finger pointing out
A name upon that nameless tomb.