The solemn light of evening on the hills,
So tranquil in their beauty—can I paint
My fierce despair, or my impetuous grief;
Vexed pride and anger, grief and lingering love,
Mingled together in wild sobs and words;—
Thank God I have forgotten them! Again
My evil nature had the mastery;
I thought but of myself; and, worst of all,
There rose before me that deep burning shame
Which I must meet: I could have borne the loss
Of my false lover's faith, but could not bear
To think that others knew his falsehood too.
I shrank abashed, and shunned all social life:
I thought not of my mother's lonely hours;
Remembered not a home made desolate
By the lost presence of a darling child;
But, reckless in my grief as in my love,
Entered the convent of the Carmelites;
I vowed a heart to God that was not God's;
And, as the veil the novice wears doth hide
Her face from every eye, so did the veil
Of proud resentment hide me from myself.
How eagerly I entered my new state!
How strict was I in its observances!—
Night brought its vigil, and day brought its fast—
Till (so the human heart deceives itself)
I deemed myself half martyr and half saint,
Rejoicing in my early holiness.
