Maurice

Ay! if you loved her, would your eyes have miss'd The moonish faintness that o'erlaps her now, Melting the fresh, full, ruddy glow of health To loveliness most heavenly, yet most sad? Her cheeks, where youth once summer'd into roses, Glow now with faint exotic loveliness, Not native to this harsh and gusty earth; And from her large dark eyes there seems to gaze Some angel with mute, melancholy looks, As from a casement at this jarring world.