Longing to live now, then again to die,

As now her face, or now her glancing eye,

Bade his heart hope, with smiled approval of

His passion; now despair, with scorn of love;

His love, that dragged itself before her feet,

Dog-like, to whom even a blow were sweet.

Ah, never dreamed he of what was to be,—

Nay, nay! how could he? while the agony

Of his unworth possessed his soul so much,

He never thought such loveliness and such