While musing on her moods that seemed so hard—
Have not you noticed at the arsenal,
At times, when watching those grim helmets there,
All suddenly, upon their polish’d brass
A wondrous brightness? then, within the disk,
Your own face hideous render’d? So with me:
Amid her harsher traits that there appear’d,
Shone soon the brighter metal; out of it,
Leer’d back to greet me my own hideousness!—
For I, it seem’d, had been the selfish one.