My life and I sat side by side,
The yellow lamplight streaming fell
Upon her form—my soul she plied
With all the pangs of hell.

Thy hopes I cried—thy promised good,
Where are the Joys that should be mine,
Where is Ambition's mount that stood
Cloud-reaching and divine?

Why didst thou ever come at all
To fret me with thy silent care;
To taunt me with my prison's wall
And goad me with despair?

My life vouchsafed me ne'er a word,
Her veil my longing looks denied;
Alone my beating heart I heard
Against my aching side.

Come share with me the sun-baked crust
Of poverty, and mount my throne,
Ambition's mole-hill made of dust,
I would not rule alone.

Wilt thou nor speak nor taste the cup
Which thy deceiving hand hath filled,
Nor with the spirit deign to sup
Which thy sweet lie hath killed?

Methought her cheeks began to pale,
Her lips to lose their wonted dyes,
And yet I dared not lift the veil
That hid them from mine eyes.

Unmoved and silent as the grave,
Nor word, nor sign, nor look gives she,
No part of all my soul may crave,
Will ever come to me.

Oh, she might be some sullen fate,
Some Sibyl in her mountain cell;
Like one who weaves the web of hate,
Beside the glare of hell.

Still on the tangled blood-red skein,
Her nimble hand the needle plies,
I watch the flying thread in vain
With tear-beclouded eyes.

Swift as my thought her needle glides,
Strange figures on the fabric glow;
She with her shadow darkly hides
All that I seek to know.

But well I know the crimson thread
On which she plies her cruel art
With ceaseless fingers, is made red
With color from my heart.

She came to me I know not whence,
She still keeps closely by my side,
I know not when she will go hence,
Nor where she will abide.

I have no power to bid her stay;
I dare not love her if I would;
I may not bid her go away,
Nor lose her if I could.