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242 Was like a fluttering flower-petal, loosed From your own soul, and wafted thus to mine. Imprinted in each burning word was love

Sincere, all-powerful…

A love sincere!

Can that be felt, Roxane?

Ay, that it can!

You come…?

Christian, my true lord, I come— (Were I to throw myself, here, at your knees, You would raise me—but 'tis my soul I lay At your feet—you can raise it nevermore!) —I come to crave your pardon. (Ay, 'tis time To sue for pardon, now that death may come!) For the insult done to you when, frivolous,

At first I loved you only for your face!

Roxane!

And later, love—less frivolous— Like a bird that spreads its wings, but cannot fly— Arrested by your beauty, by your soul

Drawn close—I loved for both at once!