Of course I could deny it; say I held No key to spring the latch of love like hers. Our lips, but parting e’en to speak of love, Infringe on Cupid; and, before they shut, Some tingling arrow of that jealous god Will make them drop all soberness. He laugh’d: “Now say you never saw the sea, for waves; Or stars, for twinkling; or the trees, for leaves; But tell me not, you never saw the heart That bosom heaves; nor ever saw the play Of faith and freak within that twinkling eye; Nor ever saw the spirit when the smile That breaks in laughter shakes the form aside. Come, friend, I know you better. Say you err; Or, by my soul, I never read you yet.” “And more,” said I; “she is not my ideal.” He laugh’d again: “Most men who court ideals Have first their idol; and, the false god fell’d, Hoard then the fringe that dangled on its train, And spend their lives in hunting other trains To match but forms and colors of the first. It strikes me, friend, that all things truthful grow. E’en love outgrows the fashion of its youth:— The world whirls on apace; and different hues Turn toward the noonday-sun. No dawn returns. What form or color robes the infinite?— Yet aught to worship matches that alone. So look you less for worship, than for worth. You need a mate, friend; not a mystery.” “A mate,” I said, “but she for whims could waive The truth whereto was anchor’d all my soul.” LVI. Still Elbert parried me: “To hear you prate Of truth—with women!—Why, you tried that once, With Edith, not so?—and she liked it, eh? Herself had love for that same truth?—What then?— How very strange, when yesterday she pass’d, She craved no more of it.” “She pass’d?” I cried. “Ay, ay,” said he; “while you, so wrapp’d in Grace, Walk’d near, and noted nothing. How she turn’d!— Then spoke of ‘haste, such haste, she could not stay’; And bade me ‘not to tell’ you.—Thus, you see, I keep my word; I promised nothing though.” At this, I blush’d; it but encouraged him.