University of Virginia Library

I.

[Have I not called thee angel-like and fair?]

Have I not called thee angel-like and fair?
What wouldst thou more? 'Twere perilous to gaze
Long on those dark bright eyes whose flashing rays
Fill with a soft and fond, yet proud, despair

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The bosoms of the shrouded few, who share
Their locked-up thoughts with none: thou hast their praise;
But beauty hears not their adoring lays,
Which tremble when but whispered in the air.
Yet, think not, although stamped as one of those,
Ah! think not thou this heart hath never burned
With passion deeply felt and ill returned.
If, ice-cold now, its pulse no longer glows,
The memory of unuttered love and woes
Lies there, alas! too faithfully inurned.