Oh, Mildred, feel you not
That now, while I remember every glance
Of yours, each word of yours, with power to test
And weigh them in the diamond scales of pride,
Resolved the treasure of a first and last
Heart's love shall have been bartered at its worth,
--That now I think upon your purity
And utter ignorance of guilt--your own
Or other's guilt--the girlish undisguised
Delight at a strange novel prize--(I talk
A silly language, but interpret, you!)
If I, with fancy at its full, and reason
Scarce in its germ, enjoined you secrecy,
If you had pity on my passion, pity
On my protested sickness of the soul
To sit beside you, hear you breathe, and watch
Your eyelids and the eyes beneath--if you
Accorded gifts and knew not they were gifts--
If I grew mad at last with enterprise
And must behold my beauty in her bower
Or perish--(I was ignorant of even
My own desires--what then were you?) if sorrow--
Sin--if the end came--must I now renounce
My reason, blind myself to light, say truth
Is false and lie to God and my own soul?
Contempt were all of this!
MILDRED. Do you believe...
Or, Henry, I'll not wrong you--you believe
That I was ignorant. I scarce grieve o'er
The past. We'll love on; you will love me still.
MERTOUN. Oh, to love less what one has injured! Dove,
Whose pinion I have rashly hurt, my breast--
Shall my heart's warmth not nurse thee into strength?
Flower I have crushed, shall I not care for thee?
Bloom o'er my crest, my fight-mark and device!
Mildred, I love you and you love me.
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