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AURORA LEIGH.
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'It's prettier than the rest.' O Romney Leigh!I'd rather far be trodden by his foot,Than lie in a great queen's bosom.'Out of breathShe paused.'Sweet Marian, do you disavowThe roses with that face?'She dropt her headAs if the wind had caught that flower of her,And bent it in the garden,—then looked upWith grave assurance. 'Well, you think me bold!But so we all are, when we're praying to God.And if I'm bold—yet, lady, credit me,That, since I know myself for what I am,Much fitter for his handmaid than his wife,I'll prove the handmaid and the wife at once,Serve tenderly, and love obediently,And be a worthier mate, perhaps, than someWho are wooed in silk among their learned books;While I shall set myself to read his eyes,Till such grow plainer to me than the FrenchTo wisest ladies. Do you think I'll missA letter, in the spelling of his mind?No more than they do, when they sit and writeTheir flying words with flickering wild-fowl tails,Nor ever pause to ask how many ts,Should that be a y or i—they know't so well:I've seen them writing, when I brought a dressAnd waited,—floating out their soft white handsOn shining paper. But they're hard sometimes,
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