VII.

Full of this whim was thoughtful Madeline:
The music, yearning like a God in pain,
She scarcely heard: her maiden eyes divine,
Fix´d on the floor, saw many a sweeping train
Pass by—she heeded not at all: in vain
Came many a tiptoe, amorous cavalier,
And back retir´d; not cool´d by high disdain,
But she saw not: her heart was otherwhere:
She sigh´d for Agnes´ dreams, the sweetest of the year.

"The Eve of St. Agnes"
John Keats