ined you secrecy,
If you had pity on my passion, pity
On my protested sickness of the soul
To sit beside you, hear you breathe, and watch
Your eyelids and the eyes beneath--if you
Accorded gifts and knew not they were gifts--
If I grew mad at last with enterprise
And must behold my beauty in her bower
Or perish--(I was ignorant of even
My own desires--what then were you?) if sorrow--
Sin--if the end came--must I now renounce
My reason, blind myself to light, say truth
Is false and lie to God and my own soul?
Contempt were all of this!

MILDRED. Do you believe...
Or, Henry, I'll not wrong you--you believe
That I was ignorant. I scarce grieve o'er
The past. We'll love on; you will love me still.

MERTOUN. Oh, to love less what one has injured! Dove,
Whose pinion I have rashly hurt, my breast--
Shall my heart's warmth not nurse thee into strength?
Flower I have crushed, shall I not care for thee?
Bloom o'er my crest, my fight-mark and device!
Mildred, I love you and you love me.

MILDRED. Go!
Be that your last word. I shall sleep to-night.

MERTOUN. This is not our last meeting?

MILDRED. One night more.

MERTOUN. And then--think, then!

MILDRED. Then, no sweet courtship-days,
No dawning consciousness of love for us,
No strange and palpitating births of sense
From words and looks, no innocent fears and hopes,
Reserves and confidences: morning's over!

MERTOUN. How else should love's perfected noontide follow?
All the dawn promised shall the day perform.

MILDRED. So may it be! but--
You are cautious, Love?
Are sure that unobserved you scaled the walls?

MERTOUN. Oh, trust me! Then our final meeting's fixed
To-morrow night?

MILDRED. Farewell! stay, Henry... wherefore?
His foot is on the yew-tree bough; the turf
Receives him: now the moonlight as he runs
Embraces him--but he must go--is gone.
Ah, once again he turns--thanks, thanks, my Love!
He's gone. Oh, I'll believe him every word!
I was so young, I loved him so, I had
No mother, God forgot me, and I fell.
There may be pardon yet: all's doubt beyond!