Page:Aurora Leigh a Poem.djvu/351

Rh If I, that day, and, being the girl I was, Had shown a gentler spirit, less arrogance, It had not hurt me. Ah, you’ll not mistake The point here. I but only think, you see, More justly, that’s more humbly, of myself, Than when I tried a crown on and supposed. . . Nay, laugh, sir,—I’ll laugh with you!—pray you, laugh. I’ve had so many birthdays since that day, I’ve learnt to prize mirth’s opportunities, Which come too seldom. Was it you who said I was not changed? the same Aurora? Ah, We could laugh there, too! Why, Ulysses’ dog Knew him, and wagged his tail and died: but if I had owned a dog, I too, before my Troy, And if you brought him here,. . I warrant you He’d look into my face, bark lustily, And live on stoutly, as the creatures will Whose spirits are not troubled by long loves. A dog would never know me, I’m so changed; Much less a friend. . except that you’re misled By the colour of the hair, the trick of the voice, Like that of Aurora Leigh’s.’ ‘Sweet trick of voice I would be a dog for this, to know it at last, And die upon the falls of it. O love, O best Aurora! are you then so sad, You scarcely had been sadder as my wife?’

‘Your wife, sir! I must certainly be changed, If I, Aurora, can have said a thing