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As a pale
phantom with a lamp
Ascends some ruined haunted
stair,
So glides the moon along the damp
Mysterious chambers of the air.
Now hidden in
cloud, and now revealed,
As if this phantom, full of
pain,
Were by the crumbling walls concealed,
And
at the windows seen again.
Until at last, serene
and proud
In all the splendour of her light,
She
walks the terraces of cloud,
Supreme as Empress of
the Night.
I look, but recognize no more
Objects familiar to my view;
The very pathway to my
door
Is an enchanted avenue.
All things are
changed. One mass of shade,
The elm-trees drop their
curtains down;
By palace, park, and colonnade
I
walk as in a foreign town.
The very ground
beneath my feet
Is clothed with a diviner air;
White marble paves the silent street
And glimmers in
the empty square.
Illusion! Underneath there lies
The common life of everyday;
Only the spirit
glorifies
With its own tints the sober grey.
In vain we look, in vain uplift
Our eyes to heaven,
if we are blind;
We see but what we have the gift
Of seeing; what we bring we find.
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