VII

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VII

Full of this whim was thoughtful Madeline:

The music, yearning like a God in pain,

She scarcely heard: her maiden eyes divine,

Fix’d on the floor, saw many a sweeping train

Pass by⁠—she heeded not at all: in vain

Came many a tiptoe, amorous cavalier,

And back retired; not cool’d by high disdain,

But she saw not: her heart was otherwhere;

She sigh’d for Agnes’ dreams, the sweetest of the year.