Because I am unlov'd of thee to-day

And undesired as sea-weeds in the sea.

xv.

I'll not believe that eyes so bright as thine

I

I

I

Were meant for malice in the summer-shine,

Or that a glance thereof, though changed to fire,

Could injure one whose spirit, like a lyre,

Has throbb'd to music of remember'd joys,—

The pride thereof, and all the tender poise

Of trust with trust,—the symphonies of grief

Made all mine own,—and Faith which never cloys.

xvi.

[33] 

[33]

How can it be that one so fair as thou

H

H

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