Chapter XIII

And so my will was caught,
The net so deftly drawn, I flounder’d first,
Then, resting, smiled. We fight the hydra, we,
Who war against our nature. Every head
That reason clove would rise redoubled there.
Forsooth, my rudeness:—that should be explain’d;
For which a single visit would suffice;
And this, for scarce a day, need check my work;
Or, if I linger’d longer, all my life
Lay still before me. Wherefore haste away?
Fate might be beckoning!—“Nay, I should not leave,”
Sigh’d hope, too warm, at last, by more than half;
Then roused sweet echoes of faint hints, recall’d
From churchly sources, of one’s need to wed,
If he would work the best, for all, with all.
Thus, like two cowards, clinging each to each,
Weak wish nudged wisdom, and weak wisdom wish.
Who gets on better?