As a pale phantom with a lamp
       &nbsp Ascends some ruin's haunted stair,
So glides the moon along the damp
       &nbsp Mysterious chambers of the air.

Now hidden in cloud, and now revealed,
       &nbsp As if this phantom, full of pain,
Were by the crumbling walls concealed,
       &nbsp And at the windows seen again.

Until at last, serene and proud
       &nbsp In all the splendor of her light,
She walks the terraces of cloud,
       &nbsp Supreme as Empress of the Night.

I look, but recognize no more
       &nbsp Objects familiar to my view;
The very pathway to my door
       &nbsp Is an enchanted avenue.

All things are changed. One mass of shade,
       &nbsp The elm-trees drop their curtains down;
By palace, park, and colonnade
       &nbsp I walk as in a foreign town.

The very ground beneath my feet
       &nbsp Is clothed with a diviner air;
White marble paves the silent street
       &nbsp And glimmers in the empty square.
Illusion! Underneath there lies
       &nbsp The common life of every day;
Only the spirit glorifies
       &nbsp With its own tints the sober gray.

In vain we look, in vain uplift
       &nbsp Our eyes to heaven, if we are blind,
We see but what we have the gift
       &nbsp Of seeing; what we bring we find.