That eyes so young on years like his should beam
Unwooed devotion back for pure esteem.
“True, she sang to his very soul, and brought
Those trains before him of luxuriant thought
Which only Music’s heaven-born art can bring,
To sweep across the mind with angel wing.
Once, as he smiled amidst that waking trance,
She paused o’ercome: he thought it might be chance,
And, when his first suspicions dimly stole
Rebuked them back like phantoms from his soul.