A Man’s Wooing. You said, last night, you did not think In all the world of men Was one true lover—true alike In deed and word and pen ;— One knightly lover, constant as The old knights, who sleep sound : Some women, said you, there might be— Not one man faithful found : Not one man, resolute to win, Or, winning, firm to hold The woman, not all women—sought Herself and not her gold : Not one whose noble life and pure Had power so to control To humble loving loyalty Her free, but reverent soul, That she beside him gladly moved Both sovereign and slave ; In faith unfettered, homage dear, Each claiming what each gave. And then you dropped your eyelids white, And stood, a maiden brave, Proud, sweet :—unloving and unloved Descending to the grave. I let you speak, and ne’er replied ; I watched you for a space, Until that passionate glow, like youth, Had faded from your face. No anger show’d I—nor complaint : My heart’s beats shook no breath, Although I knew that I had found Her, who brings life or death ; The woman, true as life or death ; The love, strong as these twain, Against which seas of mortal fate Beat harmlessly in vain. “ Not one true man :” I hear it still, Your voice’s clear cold sound, Upholding all your constant swains And good knights underground. “ Not one true lover :”——woman, turn ; I love you. Words are small ; ’Tis life speaks plain : In twenty years Pethaps you may know all. I seek you. You alone I seek : All other women, fair Or wise, or good, may go their way, Without my thought or care. But you I follow day by day, And night by night I keep My heart’s chaste mansion lighted, where Your image lies asleep. Asleep ! If e’er to wake He knows Who Eve to Adam brought, As you to me : the embodiment Of boyhood’s dear sweet thought, And youth’s fond dream and manhood’s hope, That still half hopeless shone Till every rootless vain ideal Commingled into one. You ; who are so diverse from me, Yet seem as much my own As this my soul, which formed apart Dwells in its bodily throne ;— Or rather, for that perishes, As these our two lives are So strangely, marvellously drawn Together from afar ; Till week by week and month by month We liker seem to grow, As two hill streams, flushed with rich rain, Each into the other flow. I swear no oaths, I tell no lies, Nor boast I never knew A love-dream—we all dream in youth- But waking, I found you, The real woman, whose first touch Aroused to highest life My real manhood. Crown it then, Good angel, friend, love, wife. Imperfect as I am, and you, Perchance, not all you seem, We two together, garner up Our past’s bright, broken dream We two together dare to look Upon the years to come, As travellers, met in far countrie, Together look towards home. Come home, the old tales were not false, Yet the new faith is true ; Those saintly souls who made men knights Were women such as you. For the great love that teaches love Deceived not, ne’er deceives : And she who most believes in man Makes him what she believes. Come ! if you come not, I can wait ; My faith, like life, is long ; My will—not little ; my hope much ; The patient are the strong. Yet come, ah come ! The years run fast, And hearths grow swiftly cold— Hearts too : but while blood beats in mine It holds you and will hold. And so before you it lies bare— Take it or let it lie, It was an honest heart : and yours To all eternity.