She feels the world, it touches her
Like a weird thing she needs must know,
While all her fears and fancies stir
As in a death-dream long ago.
She has passed from her youth to this -
A woman grown with misty eyes,
Knowing the world no nunnery is
For the heart stripped of its disguise.
Her feet now pace a thorny path
Where mournful hopes like fiends confer,
And e'en the power her beauty hath
Seems one with what would ruin her.