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Her world should be of love alone, Of one fond heart, and only one. For heartless flattery, and sighs And looks false as the rainbow's dyes, Are very worthless. And that morn} Had from his  borne} All woman's prettiness of scorn;} Had watched for her averted eye In vain,—had seen a rival nigh And smiled upon: he wildly swore To look on the false one no more, Who thus could trifle, thus could break A fond heart for the triumph's sake.— And yet she loved him,—oh how well Let woman's own fond spirit tell. When the warriors met in their high career, Went not her heart along with his spear?