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Rh And wear a gladder faith in what we gain. . Through bitter experience, compensation sweet, Like that tear, sweetest. I am quiet now,— As tender surely for the suffering world, But quiet,—sitting at the wall to learn, Content, henceforth, to do the thing I can: For, though as powerless, said I, as a stone, A stone can still give shelter to a worm, And it is worth while being a stone for that: There’s hope, Aurora.’ ‘Is there hope for me? For me?—and is there room beneath the stone For such a worm?—And if I came and said. . What all this weeping scarce will let me say, And yet what women cannot say at all, But weeping bitterly. . (the pride keeps up, Until the heart breaks under it). . I love,— I love you, Romney’. . . ‘Silence!’ he exclaimed, ‘A woman’s pity sometimes makes her mad. A man’s distraction must not cheat his soul To take advantage of it. Yet, ’tis hard— Farewell, Aurora.’ ‘But I love you, sir: And when a woman says she loves a man, The man must hear her, though he love her not. Which. . hush! . . he has leave to answer in his turn; She will not surely blame him. As for me, You call it pity,—think I’m generous? ’Twere somewhat easier, for a woman proud,