It knew no Medicine —
It was not Sickness — then —
Nor any need of Surgery —
And therefore — ’twas not Pain —

It moved away the Cheeks —
A Dimple at a time —
And left the Profile — plainer —
And in the place of Bloom

It left the little Tint
That never had a Name —
You’ve seen it on a Cast’s face —
Was Paradise — to blame —

If momently ajar —
Temerity — drew near —
And sickened — ever afterward
For Somewhat that it saw?

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