Chapter XXXIV

But was it, as he claim’d?
Were both of them so wise?—Or would he now
By sheer sharp practice cut us two apart?
This more seem’d like him, and more anger’d me.
Was I a boy that he should foil me thus?

Yet what to do?—The more I question’d this,
The more I saw but only one true course.
Our aims—my own and Edith’s—differ’d much.
Yet knew I more than this. Our hearts were one
In all desires that had inspired these aims.
And if our lives and hearts could be but join’d,
Could not my love and hers, together put,
Outweigh such aims as would be hers alone?
Why not have faith in love, mine join’d with hers?
What power was mightier in the universe?
Why not have faith to trust this only soul
That ever I had met, to whom my moods
Could be unroll’d, assured of insight there
To read them rightly? Why, ’twas all decreed:
Her power to read my soul gave her the right
To know its love, whatever might be hers.
And were I but to speak the truth to her,
So tell her all, why fear the simple truth?
For I would say I loved her, not her aims.
If then she should prefer her aims to me,
It would be proof that she could love me not.
But if she should prefer me to her aims,
Then surely she could yield her wish to mine.