Through Snowy Woods And Shady We Went To Play A Tune To The Lonely Manor-Lady By The Light Of The Christmas Moon. We Violed Till, Upward Glancing To Where A Mirror Leaned, We Saw Her Airily Dancing, Deeming Her Movements Screened; Dancing Alone In The Room There, Thin-Draped In Her Robe Of Night; Her Postures, Glassed In The Gloom There, Were A Strange Phantasmal Sight. She Had Learnt (We Heard When Homing) That Her Roving Spouse Was Dead; Why She Had Danced In The Gloaming We Thought, But Never Said.