When night was lifting,
And dawn had crept under its shade,
  Amid cold clouds drifting
Dead-white as a corpse outlaid,
    With a sudden scare
    I seemed to behold
    My Love in bare
    Hard lines unfold.
  Yea, in a moment,
An insight that would not die
  Killed her old endowment
Of charm that had capped all nigh,
    Which vanished to none
    Like the gilt of a cloud,
    And showed her but one
    Of the common crowd.
 She seemed but a sample
Of earth's poor average kind,
  Lit up by no ample
Enrichments of mien or mind.
    I covered my eyes
    As to cover the thought,
    And unrecognize
    What the morn had taught.
  O vision appalling
When the one believed-in thing
  Is seen falling, falling,
With all to which hope can cling.
    Off: it is not true;
    For it cannot be
    That the prize I drew
    Is a blank to me!
