XXXIII.
And woe for you, midst looks and words of love,
And gentle hearts and faces, nursed so long!
How had I seen you in your beauty move,
Wearing the wreath, and listening to the song!—
Yet sat, even then, what seem’d the crowd to shun,
Half-veil’d upon the pale clear brow of one,
And deeper thoughts than oft to youth belong—
Thoughts, such as wake to evening’s whispery sway,
Within the drooping shade of her sweet eyelids lay.