Fable

For one only moment the gates of my knowing stood open:
In flew the glorious angels, in floods, great wings glowing full bright
That lightened everything, revealing the figures engraved
On the ceiling, unmasking the porcelain statues
Whose faces were marble! -- and proving a faintly suspected glimmer
Gold. Now, the temple is dark as memory once more,
The mirrors’ stand in silence, obscure -- except for the barest flicker
Of confused motions -- is all my eyes in their unaided hindrance preserve.