And straight forgot, in joy of what I saw,
What still I knew—that Death was in my sight,
And what was seeming beautiful, was but
The twilight—the brief interval—betwixt
The glorious day and darkness. I had kissed
The wooing bliss before me, but that then
Crawled forth the venomous reptile from the folds
Where still it harbored—crawled across that shrine
Of Beauty’s best perfections, which, meseemed,
To shrink and shudder ’neath its loathly march,