With snow-white veil, and garments as of flame,     She stands before thee, who so long ago     Filled thy young heart with passion and the woe     From which thy song in all its splendors came; And while with stern rebuke she speaks thy name,     The ice about thy heart melts as the snow     On mountain heights, and in swift overflow     Comes gushing from thy lips in sobs of shame. Thou makest full confession; and a gleam     As of the dawn on some dark forest cast,     Seems on thy lifted forehead to increase; Lethe and Eunoe—the remembered dream     And the forgotten sorrow—bring at last     That perfect pardon which is perfect peace.