In the pure heaven of a sinless love.
And when he left me, as they said he would,
My spirit had no room for aught save grief.
Giving the lie to my own conscious heart,
I taxed stern truth with falsehood to the last.
But when to doubt was madness, when, perforce,
Even from my credulous eyes the scales were fallen,
What was the cold scorn of a thousand worlds
To the one thought, that for a counterfeit
I'd staked my woman's all of love—and lost!