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Distinct in individualities,
But like each other even as those who love.”
Then comes the statelier Eden back to men :
Then reign the world's great bridals, chaste and calm :
Then springs the crowning race of humankind.
May these things be l’

Sighing she spoke, ‘I fear
They will not.’

‘Dear, but let us type them now

/ In our own lives, and this proud watchword rest

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Is half itself, and in true marriage lies
Nor equal, nor unequal : each fulfils
Defect in each, and always thought in thought,
Purpose in purpose, will in will, they grow,
The single pure and perfect animal,
The two-cell'd heart, beating with one full stroke

And again sighing she spoke: ‘A dream

That once was mine ! what woman taught you this?’

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I loved the woman: he, that do not, lives
A drowning life, besotted in sweet self.
Or pines in sad experience worse than death,
Or keeps his wing'd affections clipt with crime:
Yet was there one thro' whom I loved her, one
Not learned, save in gracious household ways,
Not perfect, nay, but full of tender wants,
No Angel, but a dearer being, all dipt
In Angel instincts, breathing Paradise,
Interpreter between the Gods and men,
Who look'd all native to her place, and yet
On tiptoe occm'd to touch upon a sphere
Too grown to tread, and all male minds perforce
Hwuy'd to her from their orbits as they moved
And girdled her with music. Happy he
With such a mother ||faith in womankind
Beats with his blood, and trust in all things high

Comes easy to him, and tho' he trip and fall,

He shall not blind his soul with clay,' s
“But I,’

Said Ida, ‘so unlike, so all unlike —
It seems you love to cheat yourself with words:
This mother is your model. Never, Prince;
You cannot love me.’

‘Nay but thee,' I said,
“From yearlong poring on thy pictured eyes,
Or some mysterious or magnetic touch,
Ere seen I loved, and loved thee seen, and saw
Thee woman thro’ the crust of iron moods
That mask'd thee from men's reverence up, and forced
Sweet love on pranks of saucy boyhood: now
Giv'n back to life, to life indeed, thro’ thee
Indeed I love: the new day comes, the light
Dearer for night, as dearer thou for faults
Lived over: lift thine eyes; doubt me no more;
Look up and let thy nature strike on mine
Like yonder morning on the blind half-world;

Approach and fear not; breathe upon my brows;

In that fine air I tremble, all the past
Melts mist-like into this bright hour, and this
I scarce believe, and all the rich to come
Reels, as the golden Autumn woodland reels
Athwart the smoke of burning flowers. Forgive me,
I waste my heart in signs: let be. My bride, -
My wife, my life. O we will walk this world,
Yoked in all exercise of noble end,
And so thro' those dark gates across the wild
That no man knows. Indeed I love thee: come,
Yield thyself up : my hopes and thine are one:
Accomplish thou my manhood and thyself

Lay thy sweet hands in mine and trust to me.’


HERE closed our compound story, which at first
Had only meant to banter little maids
With mock-heroics and with parody:
But slipt in some strange way, crost with burlesque,
From mock to earnest, even into tones
Of tragic, and with less and less of jest
To such a serious end, that Lilia fixt
A showery glance upon her Aunt and said,

‘You—tell us what we are;’ who there began
A treatise, growing with it, and might have flow'd
In axiom worthier to be grav’n on rock,
Than all that lasts of old-world hieroglyph,

Or lichen-fretted Rune and arrowhead;

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