Chapter LXXIII

“And Norman,” said she, “think you, evermore,
Recalling you, the worldling could forget
How walls exclusive could exclude not love?
Or, love rejecting, gain from all the world,
Though brimm’d with but applause, one draft so sweet?—
But then earth held such promise yet, so lured;
How could I know that merely sighs there were
Could thrill me more than all its thunders could?
Ah, did I love you then, so loves he heaven
Who has not courage yet to leave the world.
I might have left it never; but, you know,
That sister mine—At last, life meant but this,—
To envy that cold tomb, all night, all day,
That held her only.—Norman, pardon me:
Such woe, such loneliness,—ah, strange was it
That oft then I recall’d your form, your words?
And when I render’d forth upon the stage
Scenes you had visioned, phrases you had fram’d,
That then I came to do as you would do,
And think as you would think?—or that my tongue
Should linger o’er your language, as o’er sweets
Re-tasted still again?—or that, anon,
Those accents ardent with your own dear aims,
Should fire mine own to ardor?—or that then
My soul should flash forth light that flamed within,
And tracing far the rays that sped from it,
Should find here”—

“One to help you, friend?” I asked—
“Then let us both thank heaven that made us weak.
So may a mortal pair bide, each to each,
Both priest and partner; like the church, their home;
For what are churches here but chosen courts
Of One pure Spirit, moving all to love?
And, think you, writ or vestment, art or arch,
Can image Him, or His domain unbound?
Nay, trust my word, we worship Him the best,
When two or three together, loving truth
And one another, thus repeat, once more,
An incarnation, imitating Christ”