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Rh Your very own pine-cones, in a grand disdain Of the lowland burrs with which you scatter them. So high and cold to others and yourself, A little less to Romney, were unjust, And thus, I would not have you. Let it pass: I feel content, so. You can bear indeed My sudden step beside you: but for me, ’Twould move me sore to hear your softened voice,— Aurora’s voice,—if softened unaware In pity of what I am.’ Ah friend, I thought, As husband of the Lady Waldemar You’re granted very sorely pitiable! And yet Aurora Leigh must guard her voice From softening in the pity of your case, As if from lie or licence. Certainly We’ll soak up all the slush and soil of life With softened voices, ere we come to you.

At which I interrupted my own thought And spoke out calmly. ‘Let us ponder, friend, Whate’er our state, we must have made it first; And though the thing displease us, ay, perhaps Displease us warrantably, never doubt That other states, thought possible once, and then Rejected by the instinct of our lives,— If then adopted, had displeased us more Than this, in which the choice, the will, the love, Has stamped the honour of a patent act From henceforth. What we choose, may not be good;