Walking along the road of his life, the speaker passes many beautiful, radiant beings dressed in white. He finally stops one and asks who she is. She keeps her face hidden, speaks hastily and anxiously, and claims to be a “good deed” that he has often seen. But he points out he’s never seen her unveiled. With a rash hand, he tears away the veil and finds not goodness, but the face of vanity. Ashamed, she leaves. After thinking it over, he calls himself a fool.
The poem feels stark and disillusioned. It suggests that what we proudly call good deeds can sometimes be disguises for vanity—a desire to appear virtuous rather than genuine selflessness. The speaker’s final self-accusation turns the disappointment inward: he wasn’t just deceived by appearances; he was complicit in the lie. The mood is brief, bitter, and quietly devastating, like a moment of sudden honesty with yourself.