The Might Have Been

ONCE in the twilight hour there stole on me
A strange, sweet spirit! In her tender eyes
Shone a far beauty, like the morning skies,
And tranquil was she as a summer sea;
An air of large, divine benignity
Breathed, like a living garb of spiritual dyes
About her--with the gentle fall and rise
Of her heart pulses tuned to mystery--
But, as I gazed, a sadness deep as death
Crept o'er the beauty of her brow serene
And a faint tremor stirred her shadowy lips;
"Thou know'st me not, "she sighed, with mournful breath;
"How can'st thou know me? Lo, through Fate's eclipse,
Thou seest, too late, too late, thy MIGHT HAVE BEEN!"