One perfect week—one week of joy untainted
When every daybreak whispered rapturous news,
When Life and Love were gloriously painted
In unimagined tones and sparkling hues,
When we were gods—or spirits newly sainted.

One perfect week—it ended but this morning,
With all the dreams of a transfigured earth.
They came again with tales and words of warning
How that her love was light and little worth;
And oh I hearkened, I who had been scorning.

One perfect week—to think it should have ended—
To think that Spring had fired the earth in vain,
That all the marching years serene and splendid,
By one stray doubt should now be wholly slain.
And yet—cannot a shattered faith be mended?