Page:The Venetian Bracelet.pdf/264

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The mind from the mean round of daily life, Waking affections that might else have slept, Or high resolves, the petrified before, Or rousing in that mind a finer sense Of inward and external loveliness, Making imagination serve as guide To all of heaven that yet remains on earth,— Thine is a useless lute: break it, and die. Love mine, I know my weakness, and I know How far I fall short of the glorious goal I purpose to myself; yet if one line Has stolen from the eye unconscious tears, Recall'd one lover to fidelity Which is the holiness of love, or bade One maiden sicken at cold vanity, When dreaming o'er affection's tenderness,