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Than its sweet loves of nature, music, song, Which as by right to woman's world belong, And make it lovely for Love's dwelling-place. Alas! that he should leave his fiery trace! But this bright creature's brow seem'd all too fair, Too gay, for Love to be a dweller there; For Love brings sorrow: yet you might descry A troubled flashing in that brilliant eye, A troubled colour on that varying cheek, A hurry in the tremulous lip to speak Avoidance of sad topics, as to shun Somewhat the spirit dared not rest upon; An unquiet feverishness a change of place, A pretty pettishness, if on her face A look dwelt as in scrutiny to seek What hidden meanings from its change might break.