Page:Aurora Leigh a Poem.djvu/113

104 Without the natural shame which creatures feel When speaking on their level, to their like. There’s many a papist she, would rather die Than own to her maid she put a ribbon on To catch the indifferent eye of such a man,— Who yet would count adulteries on her beads At holy Mary’s shrine, and never blush; Because the saints are so far off, we lose All modesty before them. Thus, to-day. ’Tis I, love Romney Leigh.’ ‘Forbear,’ I cried. ‘If here’s no muse, still less is any saint; Nor even a friend, that Lady Waldemar Should make confessions’. . ‘That’s unkindly said. If no friend, what forbids to make a friend To join to our confession ere we have done? I love your cousin. If it seems unwise To say so, it’s still foolisher (we’re frank) To feel so. My first husband left me young, And pretty enough, so please you, and rich enough, To keep my booth in May-fair with the rest To happy issues. There are marquises Would serve seven years to call me wife, I know: And, after seven, I might consider it, For there’s some comfort in a marquisate When all’s said,—yes, but after the seven years; I, now, love Romney. You put up your lip, So like a Leigh! so like him!—Pardon me, I am well aware I do not derogate