The poem
It knew no Medicine -- It was not Sickness -- then -- Nor any need of Surgery -- And therefore -- 'twas not Pain --
It moved away the Cheeks -- A Dimple at a time -- And left the Profile -- plainer -- And in the place of Bloom
It left the little Tint That never had a Name -- You've seen it on a Cast's face -- Was Paradise -- to blame --
If momently ajar -- Temerity -- drew near -- And sickened -- ever afterward For Somewhat that it saw?
it is another riddle which descibes a kind of desperate hope.