In the Night

Cruel? I think there never was a cheating More cruel, thro’ all the weary days than this! This is no dream, my heart kept on repeating, But sober certainty of waking bliss.

Dreams? O, I know their faces—goodly seeming, Vaporous, whirled on many-coloured wings; I have had dreams before, this is no dreaming, But daylight gladness that the daylight brings.

What ails my love; what ails her? She is paling; Faint grows her face, and slowly seems to fade! I cannot clasp her—stretch out unavailing My arms across the silence and the shade.