III.

I turned to seek my lady’s eyes, when lo! The vision vanished, and I stood alone Without the temple walls, whose cold gray stone Mocked my endeavor, rising row on row. I called my lady’s name, fearful and low. No answer, save the hoot-owl’s jeering tone, And the pale mocking moon that coldly shone. Now, sadly round the temple walls I go, Whose deepest mysteries I thought to know. I thought its inmost chamber mine; fond fool, I only stood within some vestibule, Where all men’s feet may wander to and fro, And saw, reflected from some mirror there, My own imaginings too warm and fair.