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 Star-bright thou standest on the sapphire floor, And, floating round thee cloud-like, soft as love, Fair many-folded raiment eddies o’er Thy white feet, lifted as in act to move.

I know thee now! Thou art that angel dear Whom Perugino saw, so long ago, And never tir’d of limning. Prison’d here Thou art, in this deep dungeon-world of woe, This dreariness, that men call daily life. Alas! thou hast forgone thy visions blest. Where are thy wings? Like us, with sin, with strife, Like us with littleness, thou art oppress’d!

Fate! Shall I bless or curse thee, who ordain’d So dim a setting for a gem so rare— Made woman of an Angel, yet retain’d The Angel’s halo in the woman’s hair?