AT WAKING

When night was lifting,

And dawn had crept under its shade,

Amid cold clouds drifting

Dead-white as a corpse outlaid,

With a sudden scare

I seemed to behold

My Love in bare

Hard lines unfold.

Yea, in a moment,

An insight that would not die

Killed her old endowment

Of charm that had capped all nigh,

Which vanished to none

Like the gilt of a cloud,

And showed her but one

Of the common crowd.

She seemed but a sample

Of earth's poor average kind,

Lit up by no ample

Enrichments of mien or mind.

I covered my eyes

As to cover the thought,

And unrecognize

What the morn had taught.

O vision appalling

When the one believed-in thing

Is seen falling, falling,

With all to which hope can cling.

Off: it is not true;

For it cannot be

That the prize I drew

Is a blank to me!