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The solemn light of evening on the hills, So tranquil in their beauty—can I paint My fierce despair, or my impetuous grief; Vexed pride and anger, grief and lingering love, Mingled together in wild sobs and words;— Thank God I have forgotten them! Again My evil nature had the mastery; I thought but of myself; and, worst of all, There rose before me that deep burning shame Which I must meet: I could have borne the loss Of my false lover's faith, but could not bear To think that others knew his falsehood too. I shrank abashed, and shunned all social life: I thought not of my mother's lonely hours; Remembered not a home made desolate By the lost presence of a darling child; But, reckless in my grief as in my love, Entered the convent of the Carmelites; I vowed a heart to God that was not God's; And, as the veil the novice wears doth hide Her face from every eye, so did the veil Of proud resentment hide me from myself. How eagerly I entered my new state! How strict was I in its observances!— Night brought its vigil, and day brought its fast— Till (so the human heart deceives itself) I deemed myself half martyr and half saint, Rejoicing in my early holiness.