Page:Aurora Leigh a Poem.djvu/179

This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
AURORA LEIGH.
That peradventure I have come to grief;Be sure I'm well, I'm merry, I'm at ease,But such a long way, long way, long way off,I think you'll find me sooner in my grave;And that's my choice, observe. For what remains,An over-generous friend will care for me,And keep me happy . . happier . .'There's a blot!This ink runs thick . . we light girls lightly weep . .And keep me happier . . was the thing to say, . .Than as your wife I could be!—O, my star,My saint, my soul! for surely you're my soul, Through whom God touched me! I am not so lostI cannot thank you for the good you did,The tears you stopped, which fell down bitterly,Like these—the times you made me weep for joyAt hoping I should learn to write your notesAnd save the tiring of your eyes, at night;And most for that sweet thrice you kissed my lipsAnd said ‘Dear Marian.’‘’Twould be hard to read,This letter, for a reader half as learn'd,But you'll be sure to master it, in spiteOf ups and downs. My hand shakes, I am blind,I'm poor at writing, at the best,—and yetI tried to make my gs the way you showed.Farewell—Christ love you.—Say 'Poor Marian' now.'
Poor Marian!—wanton Marian!—was it so,Or so? For days, her touching, foolish lines
This article is issued from Wikisource. The text is available under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 unless otherwise noted. Additional terms may apply for the media files.