LIV.

But she was pensive more than melancholy,

And serious more than pensive, and serene,

It may be, more than either—not unholy

Her thoughts, at least till now, appear to have been.

The strangest thing was, beauteous, she was wholly

Unconscious, albeit turned of quick seventeen,

That she was fair, or dark, or short, or tall;

She never thought about herself at all.

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