It was a woman's love. For five years I watched it curl and
waver. In it I saw many castles and the castles were fair, indeed. I
strove to grasp this love; smoke, smoke. Smoke is nothing, given a
color. Thus it is with our dreams. If only we might not wake!"
Gretchen's eyes were following the course of the languid river.
"Once there was a woman I thought I loved; but she would have none of
it. She said that the love I gave her was not complete because she did
not return it. She brought forth the subject of affinities, and
ventured to say that some day I might meet mine. I scoffed inwardly.
I have now found what she said to be true. The love I gave her was the
bud; the rose-- Gretchen," said I, rising, "I love you; I am not a
hypocrite; I cannot parade my regard for you under the flimsy guise of
friendship."
"Go and give the rose to her to whom you gave the bud," said Gretchen.
The half smile struck me as disdainful. "You are a strange wooer."
"I am an honest one." I began plucking at the bark of the tree. "No;
I shall let the rose wither and die on the stem.
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