Page:Aurora Leigh a Poem.djvu/23

14 Her duty to me, (I appreciate it In her own word as spoken to herself) Her duty, in large measure, well-pressed out, But measured always. She was generous, bland, More courteous than was tender, gave me still The first place,—as if fearful that God’s saints Would look down suddenly and say, ‘Herein You missed a point, I think, through lack of love.’ Alas, a mother never is afraid Of speaking angrily to any child, Since love, she knows, is justified of love.

And I, I was a good child on the whole, A meek and manageable child. Why not? I did not live, to have the faults of life: There seemed more true life in my father’s grave Than in all England. Since that threw me off Who fain would cleave, (his latest will, they say, Consigned me to his land) I only thought Of lying quiet there where I was thrown Like sea-weed on the rocks, and suffer her To prick me to a pattern with her pin, Fibre from fibre, delicate leaf from leaf, And dry out from my drowned anatomy The last sea-salt left in me. So it was. I broke the copious curls upon my head In braids, because she liked smooth ordered hair. I left off saying my sweet Tuscan words Which still at any stirring of the heart