THE form, the form alone is eloquent! A nobler yearning never broke her rest Than but to dance and sing, be gaily drest, And win all eyes with all accomplishment; Yet in the whirling dances as we went, My fancy made me for a moment blest To find my heart so near the beauteous breast That once had power to rob it of content. A moment came the tenderness of tears, The phantom of a wish that once could move, A ghost of passion that no smiles restore -- For ah! the slight coquette, she cannot love, And if you kiss'd her feet a thousand years, She still would take the praise, and care no more. |