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"Love is not love Which alters where it alteration finds." 's Sonnets.

was a beautiful but stormy-looking sky that canopied that lonely pool and the lovers, whose shadows were scarcely visible on the dark and undisturbed water below. On the far side was reflected a single red and meteoric cloud, which had treasured one last crimson ray from the sunset, or perhaps nursed within it the fiery leaven. The moon had swollen into a full and golden round; but the clouds swept athwart her, and her fitful glee came but at intervals. A low wind seemed gaining strength amid the branches; but it was uncertain, and sometimes not even a leaf was stirred. But there was light enough to show the tranquil beauty of Francesca's pale and sweet