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And, as he watch'd the dyes Of her cheek rich with exercise, Could almost deem her beauty's power Was now in its most potent hour; But when at night he saw her glance The gayest of the meteor dance, The jewels in her braided hair, Her neck, her arms of ivory bare, The silver veil, the broider'd vest,— Look'd she not then her loveliest? Ah, every change of beauty's face And beauty's shape has its own grace! That night his heart throbb'd when her hand Met his touch in the saraband: That night her smile first bade love live On the sweet life that hope can give.—