Mine inward being lay. In other eyes
I had to bow me yet, and make a shield,
To fence my burning bosom, of disguise;
By the still hope sustain’d, ere long to win
Some sanctuary, whose green retreats within
My thoughts unfetter’d to their source might rise,
Like songs and scents of morn. But thou didst look
Through all my soul, and thine e’en unto fainting shook.
XXXIX.
Fallen, fallen, I seem’d—yet, oh! not less beloved,