Page:Aurora Leigh a Poem.djvu/36

Rh Man’s doublet, careless did it fit or no.

But, after I had read for memory, I read for hope. The path my father’s foot Had trod me out, which suddenly broke off, (What time he dropped the wallet of the flesh And passed) alone I carried on, and set My child-heart ’gainst the thorny underwood, To reach the grassy shelter of the trees. Ah, babe i’ the wood, without a brother-babe! My own self-pity, like the red-breast bird, Flies back to cover all that past with leaves.

Sublimest danger, over which none weeps, When any young wayfaring soul goes forth Alone, unconscious of the perilous road, The day-sun dazzling in his limpid eyes, To thrust his own way, he an alien, through The world of books! Ah, you!—you think it fine, You clap hands—‘A fair day!’—you cheer him on, As if the worst, could happen, were to rest Too long beside a fountain. Yet, behold, Behold!—the world of books is still the world; And worldlings in it are less merciful And more puissant. For the wicked there Are winged like angels. Every knife that strikes, Is edged from elemental fire to assail A spiritual life. The beautiful seems right By force of beauty, and the feeble wrong Because of weakness. Power is justified,