XVII.

Oh beautiful! and rare as beautiful!

But theirs was Love in which the Mind delights

To lose itself, when the old world grows dull,

And we are sick of its hack sounds and sights,

Intrigues, adventures of the common school,

Its petty passions, marriages, and flights,

Where Hymen's torch but brands one strumpet more,

Whose husband only knows her not a whore.

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