That knew too well the poison of a hint,
And it worked deep and sure. And years, again,
Stole by, and now once more we meet. We meet? ah, no;
We ne’er have met! Hand may touch hand, perchance,
And eye glance back to eye its idle smile;
But our souls meet not: for, from boyhood, you
Have been a mad idolater of beauty.
And I! ah, Heaven! had you returned my love,
I had been beautiful in your dear eyes;
For love and joy and hope within the spirit