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Too glazed, too fix'd, his large eyes shone To see aught that they gazed upon. Not his the paleness that may streak The lover's or the minstrel's cheek, As it had its wan colour caught From moods of melancholy thought; 'Twas that cold, dark, unearthly shade, But for a corpse's death look made; Speaking that desperateness of pain, As one more pang, and the rack'd brain Would turn to madness; one more grief, And the swoln heart breaks for relief.

Oh, misery! to see the tomb Close over all our world of bloom; To look our last in the dear eyes Which made our light of paradise;