The Vision

I SAW but once that lovely one, Nor need I see her twice to love; She broke upon me like the dawn, And o'er my soul her magic wove— Yea, forced the lion stern to own Himself the captive of the dove. She brought the morn, she left the night; Nor strove I to throw off the chain; But rather felt a sweet delight To intermingle with the pain That made my heart's repose a blight, Till madness ruled my thought's domain. By night I sought a solitude, And gave unto the winds a grief That struggled like the lava flood, That boils and struggles for relief; And night still left me in a mood Unto the voice of reason deaf. The radiant planets in their flight, And she the quiet Queen of heaven, With glory garmented the night; But not to them the power was given To kill, but rather nurse the blight By which afar my peace was driven. Yet wished I not the sun to rise, For then the world were up, and then Were I exposed to wistful eyes, And questions bold of forward men, Who deem themselves both good and wise, Yet neither know nor pity pain. And what on earth—ay, what in hell Can be more racking to the thought, Than that our pangs unspeakable Should, disregarded, be as nought Or look's upon with looks that tell In vain would sympathy be sought? The magic vision fled, and so Have all those precious feelings, all! Which gave to life a golden glow— Which made a joy this earthly ball— And now, what's left to me? what, oh! What, but a cup of very gall!