Constance De Castile | ||
XXVII.
And, sooth to say, a form more fairNe'er claim'd heroic valor's aid.
Was it a vision of the air,
A gay illusion floating there
In fancy's loveliest hues array'd?
All loose, and lightly on the gale
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And to and fro the fluttering veil
Deepen'd her blush divinely glowing:
While, from its shade, more beamy bright
By fits her beauty flash'd on sight,
And gave a grace that varying play'd
Like changeful magic o'er the Maid.
Constance De Castile | ||