Page:The Venetian Bracelet.pdf/124

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We talk'd of winter by our own wood fire, With cheerful words, that had no tears to hide. —We pass'd through Rome on our return, and there Sought out. Graceful as her wont Her welcome to my bride; but oh, so changed! Her cheek was colourless as snow; she wore The beauty of a statue, or a spirit With large and radiant eyes:—her thrilling voice Had lost its power, but still its sweetness kept. One night, while seated in her favourite hall, The silken curtains all flung back for air, She mark'd my, whose idle gaze Was fix'd on that fair garden. "Will you come And wander in the moonlight?—our soft dew Will wash no colour from thine island cheek." She led the way by many a bed, whose hues