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The many slights the humble one receives— Lay on her memory like wither'd leaves; And homage from the crowd, and lovers' praise, Were all too apt disgust and doubt to raise. There was a something wayward in her mood; She left her heart too much to solitude: For kindly thoughts are social; but she held A scornful creed, and sympathy repell'd. That sullen barrier had one gentle break— She loved,—she loved,—and for 's sake Believed there were some angel steps on earth:— As truth that keeps the promise of its birth; As faith that will not change, that will not tire, And deems its gold the purer for the fire. Her love was all her nature's better part, The confidence, the kindness of her heart