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And although not again Dreaming of passion's burning chain, Yet felt that life had still dear things To which the lingering spirit clings. More dear, more lovely shone In thinking of that faithless one; And read he not upon the cheek All that the lip might never speak, All the heart cherish'd yet conceal'd, Scarce even to itself reveal'd. And, though with heart so torn By anger, agony, and scorn, Might ill bear even with love's name, Yet felt the maiden's hidden flame Come like the day-star in the east, When every other light has ceased;