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Yet I was wretched, though I dwelt In the sweet sight of Paradise: A curse lay on me. But not now, Thus smiled upon by those dear eyes, Will I think over thoughts of pain. I'll only tell thee that the line That ever told Love's misery, Ne'er told of misery like mine! I wedded.—I could not have borne To see the young blighted By that worst blight the spring can know— Trusting affection ill requited! Oh, was it that she was too fair, Too innocent for this damp earth; And that her native star above Reclaimed again its gentle birth?