Reason returns again, but ever gone

Reason returns again, but ever gone Are hope and happiness,—withered the bloom, The last flower plucked, but still the stalk lives on, A living death; the lone sepulchral tomb Less hopeless is.—Thus fell the blasting doom Upon Irene. Rayless the gathering night Which settled o’er her soul engulfed in gloom: She turned away like one whose vacant sight All things can dimly see, yet naught can see aright.