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.