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Rh

Beloved! not even his hot brain Dared whisper,—loving too again.

But the next morn, and bent His steps to that fair Parliament, While pride and hasty anger strove Against his memory and his love. But leave we him awhile to rave Against the faith which, like the wave, By every grain of sand can be Moved from its own tranquillity, Till settled he that woman's mind Was but a leaf before the wind,— Left to remain, retreat, advance, Without a destiny but chance.—