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And loved; the veriest slave That e'er his life to passion gave: Upon his ear no murmur came That seem'd not echoing her name; The lightest colour on her cheek Was lovelier than the morning break. He gazed upon her as he took His sense of being from her look:— Sometimes it was idolatry, Like homage to some lovely star, Whose beauty though for hope too high, He yet might worship from afar. At other times his heart would swell With tenderness unutterable: He would have borne her to an isle Where May and June had left their smile;