John Ruskin (1819–1900)

SHE sat beside me yesternight,

With lip and eye so sweetly smiling,

So full of soul, of life, of light,

So beautifully care-beguiling,

That she had almost made me gay,

Had almost charmed the thought away

(Which, like the poisoned desert wind,

Came sick and heavy o’er my mind),

That memory soon mine all would be,

And she would smile no more for me.