A DAY ago, quite suddenly,

Hell opened all its gulf to me,

I could not tell what I must do,

And so I tried to think of you.

And hoped that I might see your eyes

Just for a moment, and be wise.

But you were looking far away

Upon a green and crimson spray.

The rose-tree flung across your way.

And with the perfect sight of you

The blossom took a braver hue,

And sucked your wisdom like the dew,

Your beauty like a summer shower.

Never before was any flower

So fair and wise as was this rose

With seeing you.

And yet, who knows,

If I had seen your dear grave eyes,

Which made the little flower so wise,

Just for a moment ere I fell,

Perhaps I had been wise as well.