English poetry -- 19th century; Epic poetry, English; Novels in verse
although he’s better than her best,
And dearly she would know it ... steal a thought
Which should be all his, an eye-glance from his face,
To plunge into the mirror opposite,
In search of her own beauty’s pearl: while _I_....
Ah, dearest lady, serge will outweigh silk
For winter-wear, when bodies feel a-cold,
And I’ll be a true wife to your cousin Leigh.’
Before I answered, he was there himself.
I think he had been standing in the room,
And listened probably to half her talk,
Arrested, turned to stone,—as white as stone.
Will tender sayings make men look so white?
He loves her then profoundly.
‘You are here,
Aurora? Here I meet you!’—We clasped hands.
‘Even so, dear Romney. Lady Waldemar
Has sent me in haste to find a cousin of mine
Who shall be.’
‘Lady Waldemar is good.’
‘Here’s one, at least, who is good,’ I sighed, and touched
Poor Marian’s happy head, as, doglike, she
Most passionately patient, waited on,
A-tremble for her turn of greeting words;
‘I’ve sate a full hour with your Marian Erle,
And learnt the thing by heart,—and, from my heart,
Am therefore competent to give you thanks
For such a cousin.’
‘You accept at last
A gift from me, Aurora, without scorn?
At last I please you?’—How his voice was changed!
‘You cannot please a woman against her will,
And once you vexed me. Shall we speak of that?
We’ll say, then, you were noble in it all,
And I not ignorant—let it pass. And now,
You please me, Romney, when you please yourself;
So, please you, be fanatical in love,
And I’m well pleased. Ah, cousin! at the old hall,
Among the gallery portraits of our Leighs,
We shall not find a sweeter signory
Than this pure forehead’s.’
Not a word he said.
How arrogant men are!—Even philanthropists,
Who try to take a wife up in the way
They put down a subscription-cheque,—if once
She turns and says, ‘I will not tax you so,
Most charitable sir,’—feel ill at ease,
As though she had wronged them somehow. I suppose
We women should remember what we are,
And not throw back an obolus inscribed
With Cæsar’s image, lightly. I resumed.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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