“And I,” replied I, “not for future gain,
For what he may become, would prize my friend;
I prize the thing he is; nor wish him changed.
I would not dare disturb for aught besides
The poise of traits composing sympathy,
Which, as they are, so balance my desires.
Ah, did I chiefly look for gain to come,
For him or me, where were my present joy?—
Nay, nay, that love I, which I find possess’d.”
“Pray, how much can you find possess’d?” she ask’d.
“Enough to love,” I said.
“What holds enough
For that?” she laugh’d.
“Enough,” I answer’d her,—
“To make his presence here a boon to me;
To make his wishes a behest for me;
To make me feel an instinct seeking him,
And, finding him, a consciousness of all.”
“‘A consciousness of all,’ is vague,” she said.
“I ask for reasons and you rave alone.
This very vagueness, while you answer me,
Proves all your love a myth, or immature.”
“Ah, dear,” replied I, “there is higher love,—
A love of God, a love all worshipful;
And that love should you ask me to define,
I might an answer vaguer still give back:
The finite only can be well defined.”
“The finite!” she repeated; then exclaim’d:
“Oh, you wish worship! We must find you then
An idol! and I know a golden one;
And so do you—nay, nay, deny it not.—
And father’s heart is fix’d on him; besides
Your lover could fall down and worship you;
So father says. Two idols you could have,—
Your home a very temple; only, dear,
Be not so backward. Had but I your chance—
To you our suitors all present their best.
You get the diamonds as if you were noon;
While I, I get but coals. They never touch,
Unless to burn or else to blacken me.”