EVEN thus. I pause to write it out at length, The letter of the Lady Waldemar. After years of love, Or what is called so,βwhen a woman frets And fools upon one string of a man's name, And fingers it for ever till it breaks,β He may perhaps do for her such thing, And she accept it without detriment Although she should not love him any more And I, who do not love him, nor love you, Nor you, Aurora,βchoose you shall repent Your most ungracious letter, and confess, Constrained by his convictions, he's convinced You've wronged me foully.
Are you made so ill, You womanβto impute such ill to me? We both had mothers,βlay in their bosom once. Why, after all, I thank you, Aurora Leigh, For proving to myself that there are things I would not do,. Though something I have somewhat overdone,β For instance, when I went to see the gods One morning, on Olympus, with a step That shook the thunder in a certain cloud, Committing myself vilely. Could I think, The Muse I pulled my heart out from my breast To soften, had herself a sort of heart, And loved my mortal?
He, at least, loved her; I heard him say so; 'twas my recompence, When, watching at his bedside fourteen days, He broke out ever like a flame at whiles Between the heats of fever.
Good morning, Mister Leigh; 'You'll find another reader the next time. He came with health recovered, strong though pale Lord Howe and he, a courteous pair of friends, To say what men dare say to women, when Their debtors.
But I stopped them with a word; And proved I had never trodden such a road, To carry so much dirt upon my shoe. Then, putting into it something of disdain, I asked forsooth his pardon, and my own, For having done no better than to love, And that, not wisely,βthough 'twas long ago, And though 'twas altered perfectly since then.
