Page:Aurora Leigh a Poem.djvu/150

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AURORA LEIGH.
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A rustling bird, and now a wandering deer,Or squirrel against the oak-gloom flashing upHis sidelong burnished head, in just her wayOf savage spontaneity,) that stirAbruptly the green silence of the woods,And make it stranger, holier, more profound;As Nature's general heart confessed itselfOf life, and then fell backward on repose.
I kissed the lips that ended.—'So indeedHe loves you, Marian?''Loves me!' She looked upWith a child's wonder when you ask him firstWho made the sun—a puzzled blush, that grew,Then broke off in a rapid radiant smileOf sure solution. 'Loves me! he loves all,—And me, of course. He had not asked me elseTo work with him for ever, and be his wife.'
Her words reproved me. This perhaps was love—To have its hands too full of gifts to give,For putting out a hand to take a gift;To love so much, the perfect round of loveIncludes, in strictly conclusion, the being loved;As Eden-dew went up and fell again,Enough for watering Eden. ObviouslyShe had not thought about his love at all:The cataracts of her soul had poured themselvesAnd risen self-crowned in rainbow; would she askWho crowned her?—it sufficed that she was crowned.
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