Thanks to Frank T. Zumbach of Munich, Germany, who supplied this etext to The Literary Gothic.
Something tapped on the pane of my room
When there was never a trace
Of wind or rain, and I saw in the gloom
My weary Belovéd´s face.
`O I am tired of waiting,´ she said, 5
`Night, morn, noon, afternoon;
So cold it is in my lonely bed,
And I thought you would join me soon!´
I rose and neared the window-glass,
But vanished thence had she: 10
Only a pallid moth, alas,
Tapped at the pane for me.