XV.
And a glory, ruddy, golden-hued, streamed down on me from high,
As with lifted hands enfolden gazed I up into the sky—
Ever brighter, flashing downward, till my pained eyes ached with light,
And I turned from gazing sunward back to earth's more calm delight.
But—was it spell, or was it charm?—when I turned meto the room,
Fading seem'd the loved one's form, half in light and half in gloom—
Throbb'd my brain in wild confusion, slowly died his words in air,
All around me seemed illusion, save that streaming golden glare.