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And lowly thought—even thus—my own Teresa! Oh! the quick glancing radiance and bright bloom That once around thee hung, have melted now Into more solemn light—but holier far, And dearer, and yet lovelier in mine eyes, Than all that summer flush! For by my couch, In patient and serene devotedness, Thou hast made those rich hues and sunny smiles Thine offering unto me. Oh! I may give Those pensive lips, that clear Madonna brow, And the sweet earnestness of that dark eye, Unto the canvass;—I may catch the flow Of all those drooping locks, and glorify With a soft halo what is imaged thus— But how much rests unbreathed! my faithful one! What thou hast been to me! This bitter world, This cold unanswering world, that hath no voice To greet the gentle spirit, that drives back All birds of Eden, which would sojourn here A little while—how have I turned away