morning, noon
But days wore on , and adulation palled . She knew not what she lack 'd , nor that she loath 'd The hollow semblance , the dull mockery , Which she had gain 'd for joy by choosing rank , And money 's worth , instead of peace and love . Yet ever as the long days grew to months More heavy hung the time , moved slower by . And all things troubled her and gave her pain , And morning , noon , and night the thought would rise , And grew insistent when she would not hear : `` One loved me ! out of all this crowd but one ! And he is gone , and I have driven him forth ! '' Then in the silent solitude of night An old weird story that she once had heard Tormented her ; a story speaking much Of a rock-island on the Norman coast , A mountain peak rising from barren sand , Or standing sea-girt when the tide returns , And beaten by the winds on ev'ry side , With wall 'd - in town , and castle on the height , And high above the castle , strangely placed , A grey cathedral with its summit tipp 'd By a gold figure of St. Michael crown 'd , With burnished wings and flashing sword that shone A beacon in the sunset , seen for miles , As tho ' the Archangel floated in the air .