Cruel? I think there never was a cheating

More cruel, thro’ all the weary days than this!

This is no dream, my heart kept on repeating,

But sober certainty of waking bliss.

Dreams? O, I know their faces — goodly seeming,

Vaporous, whirled on many-coloured wings;

I have had dreams before, this is no dreaming,

But daylight gladness that the daylight brings.

What ails my love; what ails her? She is paling;

Faint grows her face, and slowly seems to fade!

I cannot clasp her–stretch out unavailing

My arms across the silence and the shade.