DAWN has blossomed: the sun is nigh:
Pearl and rose in the wimpled sky,
Rose and pearl on a brightening blue:
(She is true, and she is true!)

The noonday lies all warm and still
And calm, and over sleeping hill
And wheatfields fails a dreamy hue:
(If she be true— if she be true!)

The patient evening comes, most sad and fair:
Veiled are the stars: the dim and quiet air
Breathes bitter scents of hidden myrrh and rue:
(If she were true—if she were only true!)