Than it ever once possest.
And why this is I do not know,
But only joy that it is so.
“I know not what is love
But a thing of whims and hates,
Since what my dreams fulfil to me
Her scorn repudiates
The moment that my eyes, awake,
Would close for ever for her sake.”
He ended on a tumbled note; and to the sense of a sudden creeping in his heart. Something had moved on the threshold of the grove hard by. Bissy, his mouth agape, scrambled to his pudgy feet.