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Meredith, Owen, 1831-1891

"Lucile"


"Cease, cease, I conjure you, to trouble my life!
Is not Alfred your friend? and am I not his wife?"

IX.

"And have I not, lady," he answer'd, . . . "respected
HIS rights as a friend, till himself he neglected
YOUR rights as a wife? Do you think 'tis alone
For three days I have loved you? My love may have grown,
I admit, day by day, since I first felt your eyes,
In watching their tears, and in sounding your sighs.
But, O lady! I loved you before I believed
That your eyes ever wept, or your heart ever grieved.
Then I deem'd you were happy--I deem'd you possess'd
All the love you deserved,--and I hid in my breast
My own love, till this hour--when I could not but feel
Your grief gave me the right my own grief to reveal!
I knew, years ago, of the singular power
Which Lucile o'er your husband possess'd. Till the hour
In which he revea'd it himself, did I,--say!--
By a word, or a look, such a secret betray?
No! no! do me justice. I never have spoken
Of this poor heart of mine, till all ties he had broken
Which bound YOUR heart to him. And now--now, that his love
For another hath left your own heart free to rove,
What is it,--even now,--that I kneel to implore you?
Only this, Lady Alfred! . . . to let me adore you
Unblamed: to have confidence in me: to spend
On me not one thought, save to think me your friend.
Let me speak to you,--ah, let me speak to you still!
Hush to silence my words in your heart if you will.


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