XXXIII.

And woe for you, midst looks and words of love, And gentle hearts and faces, nursed so long! How had I seen you in your beauty move, Wearing the wreath, and listening to the song!-- Yet sat, even then, what seem’d the crowd to shun, Half-veil’d upon the pale clear brow of one, And deeper thoughts than oft to youth belong-- Thoughts, such as wake to evening’s whispery sway, Within the drooping shade of her sweet eyelids lay.