SHE lifted up her eyes and looked at me;—
Straightway, methought that I was gazing down
Through lacy lattices of meadow grass,
Into the face of that low, little flower,
That holds all fathomless eternity,
Inscrutable, immeasurable dusk's
Heart-breaking blue, and night's first timid star,
Prisoned and mirrored in a shallow cup,
So small a single dewdrop would o'erflow it,
So frail no vagrant bee could rest thereon.
But unaware of its own loveliness
This symbol of all mysteries sad and sweet
Fixes on heaven the wide unwinking stare
Of blind, bright eyes, coloured and glorified,
By light and hues, it apprehendeth not.—
Even so, lovely, senseless and aloof,
Round-eyed Veronica looked up at me.