XLII.
Alas! and life hath moments when a glance—
(If thought to sudden watchfulness be stirr’d)—
A flush—a fading of the cheek, perchance—
A word—less, less—the cadence of a word,
Lets in our gaze the mind’s dim veil beneath,
Thence to bring haply knowledge fraught with death!
Even thus, what never from thy lip was heard
Broke on my soul. I knew that in thy sight
I stood, howe’er beloved, a recreant from the light.