Page:Aurora Leigh a Poem.djvu/176

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AURORA LEIGH.
167
Had fallen as thunder on a roaring fire,And made all silent,—while the people’s smokePassed eddying slowly from the emptied aisles.
Here ’s Marian’s letter, which a ragged childBrought running, just as Romney at the porchLooked out expectant of the bride. He sentThe letter to me by his friend Lord HoweSome two hours after, folded in a sheetOn which his well-known hand had left a word.Here ’s Marian’s letter.‘Noble friend, dear saintBe patient with me. Never think me vile,Who might to-morrow morning be your wifeBut that I loved you more than such a name.Farewell, my Romney. Let me write it once,—My Romney.''Tis so pretty a coupled word,I have no heart to pluck it with a blot.We say ‘My God’ sometimes, upon our knees,Who is not therefore vexed: so bear with it . .And me. I know I’m foolish, weak, and vain;Yet most of all I’m angry with myselfFor losing your last footstep on the stair,The last time of your coming,—yesterday!The very first time I lost step of yours,(Its sweetness comes the next to what you speak)But yesterday sobs took me by the throat,And cut me off from music.‘Mister Leigh,
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