I sat before my glass one day, <br />And conjured up a vision bare, <br />Unlike the aspects glad and gay, <br />That erst were found reflected there - <br />The vision of a woman, wild <br />With more than womanly despair. <br />Her hair stood back on either side <br />A face bereft of loveliness. <br />It had no envy now to hide <br />What once no man on earth could guess. <br />It formed the thorny aureole <br />Of hard, unsanctified distress. <br /> <br />Her lips were open - not a sound <br />Came though the parted lines of red, <br />Whate'er it was, the hideous wound <br />In silence and secret bled. <br />No sigh relieved her speechless woe, <br />She had no voice to speak her dread. <br /> <br />And in her lurid eyes there shone <br />The dying flame of life's desire, <br />Made mad because its hope was gone, <br />And kindled at the leaping fire <br />Of jealousy and fierce revenge, <br />And strength that could not change nor tire. <br /> <br />Shade of a shadow in the glass, <br />O set the crystal surface free! <br />Pass - as the fairer visions pass - <br />Nor ever more return, to be <br />The ghost of a distracted hour, <br />That heard me whisper: - 'I am she!'<br /><br />Mary Elizabeth Coleridge<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-other-side-of-a-mirror/
