Ah, Zelica! there was a time when bliss Too happy days! when, if he touched a flower Or gem of thine, 'twas sacred from that hour; But this bright creature's brow seem'd all too fair, Too gay, for love to be a dweller there; For love brings sorrow; yet you might descry A troubled flashing in that brilliant eye, A troubled color on that varying cheek, A hurry in the tremulous lip to speak, An unquiet feverishness, a change of place; A pretty pettishness-if on her face A look dwelt, as in scrutiny to seek What hidden meaning from its charge might break. |