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And holding a rich goblet: oh, that child! With eyes as blue as spring-days, and those curls Throwing their auburn shadow o'er a brow So arch, so playful—have you bodied forth Young Cupid in your colours? . No—oh no, I could not paint Love as a careless boy,— That passionate Divinity, whose life Is of such deep and intense feeling! No, I am too true, too earnest, and too happy, To ever image by a changeful child That which is so unchangeable. But mark How sweet, how pale, the light that I have thrown Over the picture: it is just the time When Dian's dewy kiss lights up the dreams That make Endymion's sleep so beautiful.