Page:Aurora Leigh a Poem.djvu/94

Rh Of the burthen of it, than King Solomon Considered, when he wore his holy ring Charáctered over with the ineffable spell, How many carats of fine gold made up Its money-value. So, Leigh gives to Leigh— Or rather, might have given, observe!—for that’s The point we come to. Here’s a proof of gift, But here’s no proof, sir, of acceptancy, But rather, disproof. Death’s black dust, being blown, Infiltrated through every secret fold Of this sealed letter by a puff of fate, Dried up for ever the fresh-written ink, Annulled the gift, disutilised the grace, And left these fragments.’ As I spoke, I tore The paper up and down, and down and up And crosswise, till it fluttered from my hands, As forest-leaves, stripped suddenly and rapt By a whirlwind on Valdarno, drop again, Drop slow, and strew the melancholy ground Before the amazèd hills. . why, so, indeed, I’m writing like a poet, somewhat large In the type of the image,—and exaggerate A small thing with a great thing, topping it!— But then I’m thinking how his eyes looked. . his With what despondent and surprised reproach! I think the tears were in them as he looked— I think the manly mouth just trembled. Then He broke the silence. ‘I may ask, perhaps,