O’er-rill’d her lips and rippled round her guise,
The very train’s hem shaken by the flow.
“Nay, nay, but I shall trust you yet,” I thought;
“And still believe you good, and hold it true
That maids, like minnows, rarely show themselves
Till, caught and drawn from out the open sea,
They frisk in safety in some household pond!”
Like this, my moods moved on,—life’s usual way,
The mainspring sped by balanced contraries,
And every pulse, whose beating proves we live,