THE TROUBADOUR.
193
Her large dark eyes were almost hid
By the nightfall of the fringed lid;
And tears which fill'd their orbs with light,
Like summer showers blent soft with bright.
Her cheek was saintly pale, as nought
Were there to flush with earthly thought;
As the heart which in youth had given
Its feelings and its hopes to Heaven,
Knew no emotions that could spread
A maiden's cheek with sudden red,—
Made for an atmosphere above,
Too much to bend to mortal love.
And Raymond watch'd as if his eye
Were on a young divinity,—
