Just then the sister of Elbert, gesturing toward The sister of Edith, Alice, whom she fetch’d, Cried, half-way introducing us, “My fan!” I stoop’d, and pick’d it up. Then, bowing low, “Your humble slave,” I said. “You know, some claim That genuine friends of either sex are slaves; And only want of love would snatch a whip, And snapping it, cry out: ‘This way—serve me.’” “And I, like them,” said Edith, slightly flush’d, “Seem wholly loveless. You may mourn it less That yonder carriage waits me. For to-day, All thanks for coming! We may meet once more.” XII. My face flamed hot as if its veil of flesh Would burn, and bare the soul, to show I meant No rudeness. Elbert’s keen-eyed sister laugh’d, And, walking homeward then, kept bantering me, To storm my heart with courage womanly, So sure that love of sex controls us all. “So fortunate!” she cried; “Heaven favor’d me. They had no escort,—I no rival near; And I must ply my arts this very eve.” “Ah, but my plans!” I said;—“I leave to-day For studies at Berlin.” “Yes, yes; your plans!— You serve ideals, like all idiots. But you are more, much more, than out your teens; And—well, you are no hermit, any way.” “Then must I find”—I laugh’d, yet half in earnest— “The charms to tempt me!” and my reckoning Fill’d all my fingers doubly with the traits Of perfect womanhood. “She owns,” I heard, “All these, and more. For once, my poet, dream; And full Elysium waits you when you wake. But mind you, Norman, maids of Edith’s kind, In whose one person love so womanly With intellect so manly has been join’d, Need not to marry for a hand or head. There, hearts alone can win. Bear this in mind; And fan your fancy till your words grow warm, Ay, glow to flash the white heat of the soul!” Then, crying from her door, “Farewell till eve,” True to her sex, unanswer’d yet assured, The woman left. XIII. And so my will was caught, The net so deftly drawn, I flounder’d first, Then, resting, smiled. We fight the hydra, we, Who war against our nature. Every head That reason clove would rise redoubled there. Forsooth, my rudeness:—that should be explain’d; For which a single visit would suffice; And this, for scarce a day, need check my work; Or, if I linger’d longer, all my life Lay still before me. Wherefore haste away? Fate might be beckoning!—“Nay, I should not leave,” Sigh’d hope, too warm, at last, by more than half; Then roused sweet echoes of faint hints, recall’d From churchly sources, of one’s need to wed, If he would work the best, for all, with all. Thus, like two cowards, clinging each to each, Weak wish nudged wisdom, and weak wisdom wish. Who gets on better? XIV.