Francisca walks in the shadow of night, <br />But it is not to gaze on the heavenly light - <br />But if she sits in her garden bower, <br />'Tis not for the sake of its blowing flower. <br />She listens - but not for the nightingale - <br />Though her ear expects as soft a tale. <br />There winds a step through the foliage thick, <br />And her cheek grows pale, and her heart beats quick. <br />There whispers a voice thro' the rustling leaves; <br />A moment more and they shall meet - <br />'Tis past - her lover's at her feet.<br /><br />George Gordon Byron<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/francisca-2/
