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Rh Nor wound you, yet be worthy.’ ‘Are we mad?’ He echoed—’wife! mine! Lady Waldemar! I think you said my wife.’ He sprang to his feet, And threw his noble head back toward the moon As one who swims against a stormy sea, And laughed with such a helpless, hopeless scorn, I stood and trembled. ‘May God judge me so,’ He said at last,—’I came convicted here, And humbled sorely if not enough. I came, Because this woman from her crystal soul Had shown me something which a man calls light: Because too, formerly, I sinned by her As, then and ever since, I have, by God, Through arrogance of nature,—though I loved. . Whom best, I need not say,. . since that is writ Too plainly in the book of my misdeeds; And thus I came here to abase myself, And fasten, kneeling, on her regent brows A garland which I startled thence one day Of her beautiful June-youth. But here again I’m baffled!—fail in my abasement as My aggrandisement: there’s no room left for me, At any woman’s foot, who misconceives My nature, purpose, possible actions. What! Are you the Aurora who made large my dreams To frame your greatness? you conceive so small? You stand so less than woman, through being more, And lose your natural instinct, like a beast,