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It was not thus with mine: it did not spring, Like the bright colour on an evening cloud, Into a moment's life, brief, beautiful; Not amid lighted halls, when flatteries Steal on the ear like dew upon the rose, As soft, as soon dispersed, as quickly pass'd; But you first call'd my woman's feelings forth, And taught me love ere I had dream'd love's name. I loved unconsciously: your name was all That seem'd in language, and to me the world Was only made for you; in solitude, When passions hold their interchange together, Your image was the shadow of my thought; Never did slave, before his Eastern lord, Tremble as I did when I met your eye, And yet each look was counted as a prize;