LADY GERALDINE'S COURTSHIP.
157
While you draw the golden ringlets down your fingers, to vow gaily, . . .
You will wed no man that's only good to God,—and nothing more.
You will wed no man that's only good to God,—and nothing more.
"Why, what right have you, made fair by that same God—the sweetest woman
Of all women He has fashioned—with your lovely spirit-face,
Which would seem too near to vanish, if its smile were not so human,—
And your voice of holy sweetness, turning common words to grace:
Of all women He has fashioned—with your lovely spirit-face,
Which would seem too near to vanish, if its smile were not so human,—
And your voice of holy sweetness, turning common words to grace:
"What right can you have, God's other works, to scorn, despise, . . . revile them
In the gross, as mere men, broadly—not as noble men, forsooth,—
But as Parias of the outer world, forbidden to assoil them,
In the hope of living—dying,—near that sweetness of your mouth?
In the gross, as mere men, broadly—not as noble men, forsooth,—
But as Parias of the outer world, forbidden to assoil them,
In the hope of living—dying,—near that sweetness of your mouth?
"Have you any answer, Madam? If my spirit were less earthy—
If its instrument were gifted with more vibrant silver strings—
I would kneel down where I stand, and say—' Behold me I I am worthy
Of thy loving, for I love thee! I am worthy as a king.'
If its instrument were gifted with more vibrant silver strings—
I would kneel down where I stand, and say—' Behold me I I am worthy
Of thy loving, for I love thee! I am worthy as a king.'
"As it is—your ermined pride, I swear, shall feel this stain upon her—
That I, poor, weak, tost with passion, scorned by me and you again,
Love you, Madam—dare to love you—to my grief and your dishonour—
To my endless desolation, and your impotent disdain!"
That I, poor, weak, tost with passion, scorned by me and you again,
Love you, Madam—dare to love you—to my grief and your dishonour—
To my endless desolation, and your impotent disdain!"
