LXII.
             
        Tho’ if an eye that’s downward cast
            Could make thee somewhat blench or fail,
            Then be my love an idle tale,
        And fading legend of the past;

        And thou, as one that once declined,
            When he was little more than boy,
            On some unworthy heart with joy,
        But lives to wed an equal mind;

        And breathes a novel world, the while
            His other passion wholly dies,
            Or in the light of deeper eyes
        Is matter for a flying smile.