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4
CHRISTINA.
Write evil things and bitter; yea, the stones
Took up a taunting parable against me.
I looked unto the right hand and the left,
But not for help, for there was none would know me,
I knew that no man carèd for my soul;
Yet One in heaven still loved me, one on earth!
But being then unto myself so hateful,
I deemed that all did hate me, hating all;—
Yet one there was I hated not, but envied,
A sad, despairing envy, having this
Of virtue, that it did not seek to soil
The whiteness that it gazed upon, and pined.
For I had loved Christina! we had been
Playmates in innocent childhood; girlish friends,
With hearts that, like the summer's half-oped buds,
Grew close, and hived their sweetness for each other.
She was not fair like me unto the eye,
But to the heart, that showed her by its light
Most lovely in the loveliness of love.
I parted from her on Life's cross-road, where
I parted from all good; yet even then,
Had prayers and tears prevailed, we had not parted.
Long after me I heard her kind voice calling,
"Return!"yet I went on;—our paths struck wide,
As were the issues that they led to, then
She lost me, but I never lost her: still
Across the world-wide gulf betwixt us set
My soul stretched out a bridge, a slender hair,
Whereon repassing swiftly to and fro,
It linked itself unseen with all her lot,