Page:Aurora Leigh a Poem.djvu/308

Rh (Each green leaf and each white leaf ruled in black As if for writing some new text of fate) And the open letter, rested on my knee,— But there, the lines swerved, trembled, though I sate Untroubled. . plainly,. . reading it again And three times. Well, he’s married; that is clear. No wonder that he’s married, nor much more That Vincent’s therefore, ‘sorry.’ Why, of course, The lady nursed him when he was not well, Mixed drinks,—unless nepenthe was the drink, ’Twas scarce worth telling. But a man in love Will see the whole sex in his mistress’ hood, The prettier for its lining of fair rose; Although he catches back, and says at last, ‘I’m sorry.’ Sorry. Lady Waldemar At prettiest, under the said hood, preserved From such a light as I could hold to her face To flare its ugly wrinkles out to shame,— Is scarce a wife for Romney, as friends judge, Aurora Leigh, or Vincent Carrington,— That’s plain. And if he’s ‘conscious of my heart’. . Perhaps it’s natural, though the phrase is strong; (One’s apt to use strong phrases, being in love) And even that stuff of ‘fields of gold,’ ‘gold rings,’ And what he ‘thought,’ poor Vincent! what he ‘thought,’ May never mean enough to ruffle me. —Why, this room stifles. Better burn than choke; Best have air, air, although it comes with fire, Throw open blinds and windows to the noon