Rapid though as bird-notes gushing,
Transient as a wan cheek’s flushing,
Each in young Teresa’s breast
Left its fiery words impress’d;
Treasured there lay every line,
As a rich book on a hidden shrine.
Fair was that lone girl, and meek,
With a pale, transparent cheek,
And a deep-fringed violet eye
Seeking in sweet shade to lie,