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For there are hope and constancy beside, And are not these to happiness allied; And yet upon that maiden's cheek is caught A summer evening's shade of pensive thought, As if these large soft eyes knew all their fate, How the heart would its destiny create,— At once too tender, and too passionate;— Too made for happiness to be happy here, An angel fetter'd to an earthly sphere.— And those dark eyes, so large, so soft, so bright, So clear as if their very tears were light; They tell that destiny, art thou not one To whom love will be like the summer sun That feeds the diamond in the secret mine, Then calls it from its solitude to shine, And piece by piece be broken. Watch the bloom, And mark its fading to an early tomb,