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Round it she threw her raven hair,— It seemed to love the gentle snare, And its soft beak was raised to sip The honey-dew of her red lip. Her dark eyes filled with tears, to feel The gentle creature closer steal Into her heart with soft caress, As it would thank her tenderness; To her 't was strange and sweet to be Beloved in such fond purity, And sighed to think that sin Could dwell so fair a shrine within. "Oh grief to think that she was one "Who like the breeze was wooed and won! "Yet sure it were a task for love "To come like dew of the night from above