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 Beloved'S Face. "O I Am Tired Of Waiting," She Said, "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: Only A Pallid Moth, Alas, Tapped At The Pane For Me. August 1913.