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Love should dwell with that purity Which but in woman's love can be: A sacred fire, whose flame was given To shed on earth the light of heaven,— That she can fling her wealth aside In carelessness, or sport, or pride!

It was not form'd for length of bliss, A dream so fond, so false as this; Enough for to win The heart she had no pleasure in,— Enough that bright eyes turn'd in vain On him who bow'd beneath her chain:— Then came the careless word and look, All the fond soul so ill can brook, The jealous doubt, the burning pain, That rack the lover's heart and brain;