Oh, she had yet the task to learn How often woman's heart must turn To feed upon its own excess Of deep yet passionate tenderness! How much of grief … - Letitia Elizabeth Landon

We met in secret : mystery is to love
Like perfume to the flower ; the maiden's blush
Looks loveliest when her cheek is pale with fear.

'T was night, but night which the imperial moon,
Regal in her full beauty, turn'd to noon,
But still the noon of midnight; though the ray
Was clear and bright, it was not that of day;

The shade fell darker from the clustering vine,
Whose green boughs twined the lattice like a wreath ;
The lark had ceased the musical glad laugh
With which he hails the morning; note by note
The matin song had died upon the wind;
The dew which hung upon the cypresses
Had turned to sunshine on the waving leaves;—