Daily heavier, heavier upon her pressed the sorrow,
Daily distincter, distincter within her arose the conviction,
He was too high, too perfect, and she so unfit, so unworthy,
(Ah me! Philip, that ever a word such as that should be written!)
It would do neither for him nor for her; she also was something,
Not much indeed, it was true, yet not to be lightly extinguished
Should he—he, she said, have a wife beneath him? herself be
An inferior there where only equality can be?
It would do neither for him nor for her.
Alas for Philip!