Mar. I'll look upon her. When sleep slips the rein
The soul plays in the face unguarded. Then
The conscious warder holding up the mask
Before the secret self bares all defence
Unheedful of approach. I'll look, and pray
To find the lineaments so pure by day
Still guileless fair. O, that 'twere yesterday—Sweet
yesterday—when I knew not nor guessed
The sad division 'tween my soul and Hubert's!
O, knowledge, rude defiler of our dreams,