Thomas Hardy - Her Apotheosis lyrics

There was a spell of leisure,   No record vouches when; With honours, praises, pleasure   To womankind from men. But no such lures bewitched me,   No hand was stretched to raise, No gracious gifts enriched me,   No voices sang my praise. Yet an iris at that season   Amid the accustomed slight From denseness, dull unreason,   Ringed me with living light.