Which seems to take possession of this world 66 Is something slow, involved and mystical, "To hold Jules long in doubt, yet take his taste "And lure him on, so that, at innermost "Where he seeks sweetness' soul, he may find-this! 66 -As in the apple's core, the noisome fly: "For insects on the rind are seen at once, "And brushed aside as soon, but this is found 66 Only when on the lips or loathing tongue." And so he read what I have got by heartI'll speak it," Do not die, love! I am yours Stop is not that, or like that, part of words Yourself began by speaking? Strange to lose What cost much pains to learn! Is this more right? I am a painter who cannot paint; In my life, a devil rather than saint, brain, as poor a creature too— No end to all I cannot do! In my Yet do one thing at least I can— Through the Valley of Love I went, In its lovingest spot to abide, And just on the verge where I pitched my tent, (Let the Bridegroom ask what the painter meant, And further, I traversed Hate's grove, In its hatefullest nook to dwell; But lo, where I flung myself prone, couched Love (The meaning-those black bride's-eyes above, "And here," said he, "Jules probably will ask, So I grew wiser in Love and Hate, For once, when I loved, I would enlace As if by mere love I could love immensely! How passion seeks aid from its opposite passion, The spot, or the spot in Hate's Grove, Each of the other's borders. I love most, when Love is disguised How Love smiles through Hate's iron casque, Hate grins through Love's rose-braided mask,— I sought long and painfully The skin, but pierce to the quick— Ask this, my Jules, and be answered straight By thy bride-how the painter Lutwyche can hate! JULES interposes. Lutwyche-who else? But all of them, no doubt, Their turn, however! You I shall not meet: Keep What's here, this gold-we cannot meet again, And books, and medals, except . . . let them go ... Together, so the produce keeps you safe, Out of Natalia's clutches!—If by chance (For all's chance here) I should survive the gang At Venice, root out all fifteen of them, We might meet somewhere, since the world is wide— (From without is heard the voice of PIPPA, singing Give her but a least excuse to love me! When-where How can this arm establish her above me, -- If fortune fixed her as my lady there, But "Oh-" cried the maiden, binding her tresses, "Crumbling your hounds their messes!") Is she wronged?—To the rescue of her honour, Is she poor? What costs it to be styled a donour? But that fortune should have thrust all this upon her! And still cried the maiden, binding her tresses, "'Tis only a page that carols unseen "Fitting your hawks their jesses!") JULES resumes. (PIPPA passes.) What name was that the little girl sang forth? At Asolo, where still the peasants keep His power of doing good to, as a queen "She never could be wronged, be poor," he sighed, Yes, a bitter thing I find myself queen here, it seems! How strange! Look at the woman here with the new soul, Waiting my word to enter and make bright, |