Page:Aurora Leigh a Poem.djvu/343

Rh Still wish some happier fortune to your friend, Than even to have written a far better book.’

He answered gently, ‘That is consequent: The poet looks beyond the book he has made, Or else he had not made it. If a man Could make a man, he’d henceforth be a god In feeling what a little thing is man: It is not my case. And this special book, I did not make it, to make light of it: It stands above my knowledge, draws me up; ’Tis high to me. It may be that the book Is not so high, but I so low, instead; Still high to me. I mean no compliment: I will not say there are not, young or old, Male writers, ay, or female,—let it pass, Who’ll write us richer and completer books. A man may love a woman perfectly, And yet by no means ignorantly maintain A thousand women have not larger eyes: Enough that she alone has looked at him With eyes that, large or small, have won his soul. And so, this book, Aurora,—so, your book.’

‘Alas,’ I answered, ‘is it so, indeed?’ And then was silent.

‘Is it so, indeed,’ He echoed, ‘that alas is all your word?’