Page:Aurora Leigh a Poem.djvu/400

Rh As I am, and I’m very vilely proud, To let it pass as such, and press on you Love born of pity,—seeing that excellent loves Are born so, often, nor the quicklier die,— And this would set me higher by the head Than now I stand. No matter: let the truth Stand high: Aurora must be humble: no, My love’s not pity merely. Obviously I’m not a generous woman, never was. Or else, of old, I had not looked so near To weights and measures, grudging you the power To give, as first I scorned your power to judge For me, Aurora: I would have no gifts Forsooth, but God’s,—and I would use them, too, According to my pleasure and my choice, As He and I were equals,—you, below, Excluded from that level of interchange Admitting benefaction. You were wrong In much? you said so. I was wrong in most. Oh, most! You only thought to rescue men By half-means, half-way, seeing half their wants, While thinking nothing of your personal gain. But I who saw the human nature broad, At both sides, comprehending, too, the soul’s, And all the high necessities of Art, Betrayed the thing I saw, and wronged my own life For which I pleaded. Passioned to exalt The artist’s instinct in me at the cost Of putting down the woman’s—I forgot No perfect artist is developed here