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Its spell of beauty; the fixed lid, As if the daylight were forbid To brighten the blue orbs that kept Their azure even while they slept All other sleeps, save this dark one. And this the work that he had done.

And she was gone, the faithful,—fair, In her first moment of life's care; Gone in her bloom, as if the earth Felt pity for its loveliest birth, And took her like the gentle flower, That falls before the earliest shower; With heart too tender, and too weak,— What had such heart to do but break?