LXXIV.

Then there were sighs, the deeper for suppression,

And stolen glances, sweeter for the theft,

And burning blushes, though for no transgression,

Tremblings when met, and restlessness when left;

All these are little preludes to possession,

Of which young Passion cannot be bereft,

And merely tend to show how greatly Love is

Embarrassed at first starting with a novice.

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