XXXIX

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XXXIX

They kiss’d nine times the carpet’s velvet face

Of glossy silk, soft, smooth, and meadow-green,

Where the close eye in deep rich fur might trace

A silver tissue, scantly to be seen,

As daisies lurk’d in June-grass, buds in green;

Sudden the music ceased, sudden the hand

Of majesty, by dint of passion keen,

Doubled into a common fist, went grand,

And knock’d down three cut glasses, and his best ink-stand.