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A lovelier sight therein she saw Than ever yet had charmed her eyes, A fairer picture, void of flaw, Than any, even Paradise Itself, could draw;

A woman's form of perfect grace, In shadowy softness delicate; Though flushed by sunset's rich embrace, A white rose could not imitate Her innocent face:

Then, through the deepening glance of fear, The shaft of doubt came quivering, The sorrow-shaft--a sigh its wing, And for its barb a tear.