Lord Walters Wife

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    <strong>Lord Walters Wife</strong>

    I

    But where do you go? said the lady, while both sat uhe yew,

    And her eyes were alive in their depth, as the krakeh the sea-blue.

    II

    Because I fear you, he answered;--because you are far too fair,

    And able tle my soul in a mesh of yolfd-coloured hair.

    III

    Oh that, she said, is no reason! Suots are quickly undone,

    And too much beauty, I re, is nothing but too much sun.

    IV

    Yet farewell so, he answered; --the sunstrokes fatal at times.

    I value your husband, Lord Walter, whose galls still from the limes.

    V

    Oh that, she said, is no reason. You smell a rose through a fence:

    If two should smell it<dfn>九九藏书</dfn> what matter? who grumbles, and wheres the pretense?

    VI

    But I, he replied, have promised another, when love was free,

    To love her alone, alone, who alone from afar loves me.

    VII

    Why, that, she said, is no reason. Loves always free I am told.

    Will you vow to be safe from the headache on Tuesday, and think it will hold?

    VIII

    But you, he replied, have a daughter, a young child, who was laid

    In your lap to be pure; so I leave you: the angels would make me afraid.&quot;

    IX

    Oh that, she said, is no reason. The angels keep out of the way;

    And Dora, the child, observes nothing, although you should please me and stay.

    X

    At which he rose up in his anger,--Why now, you no longer are fair!

    Why, now, you no longer are fatal, but ugly and hateful, I swear.

    XI

    At which she laughed out in her s: These men! Oh these men overnice,

    Who are shocked if a colour not virtuous is frankly put on by a vice.

    XII

    Her eyes blazed upon him--And you! Y us your vices so near

    That we smell them! You think in our presehought twould defame us to hear!

    XIII

    What reason had you, and what right,--I appel to your soul from my life,--

    To find me so fair as a woman? Why, sir, I am pure, and a wife.

    XIV

    Is the day-star too fair up above you? It burns you not. Dare you imply

    I brushed you more close thaar does, when Walter had set me as high?

    XV

    If a man finds a woman too fair, he means simply adapted too much

    To use unlawf<abbr></abbr>ul and fatal. The praise! --shall I thank you for such?

    XVI

    Too fair?--not unless you misuse us! and surely if, on a whil<q>藏书网</q>e,

    You attain to it, straightaway you call us no looo fair, but too vile.

    XVII

    A moment,--I pray your attention!--I have a poor wor<u></u>d in my head

    I must utter, though womanly  would set it dower unsaid.

    XVIII

    You grew, sir, pale to impertinence, once when I showed you a ring.

    You kissed my fan when I dropped it. No matter! Ive brokehing.

    XIX

    You did me the honour, perhaps, to be moved at my side now and then

    In the senses--a vice, I have <kbd>99ｌib?</kbd>heard, which is on to beasts and some men.

    XX

    Loves a virtue for heroes!--as white as the snow on high hills,

    And immortal as every great soul is that struggles, endures, and fulfils.

    XXI

    I love my Walter profoundly,--you, Maude, though you faltered a week,

    For the sake of . . . what is it--an eyebrow? or, less still, a mole on the cheek?

    XXII

    And since, when alls said, youre too o stoop to the frivolous t

    About crimes irresistable, virtues that swindle, betray and supplant.

    XXIII

    I determio prove to yourself that, whateer you might dream or avow

    By illusion, you wanted precisely no more of me than you have now.

    XXIV

    There! Look me full in the face!--in the face. Uand, if you ,

    That the eyes of suen as I am are  as the palm of a man.

    XXV

    Drop his hand, you insult him. Avoid us for fear we should cost you a scar--

    You take us for harlots, I tell you, and not for the women we are.

    XXVI

    Yed me: but then I sidered . . . theres Walter! And so at the end

    I vowed that he should not be mulcted, by me, in the hand of a friend.

    XXVII

    Have I hurt you indeed? We are quits then. Nay, friend of my Walter, be mine!

    e, Dora, my darling, my angel, and help me to ask him to dine.

    <strong>Elizabeth Barrett Browning</strong>

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