“Shall I not one day remember thy bower,
One day when all days are one day to me!
Thinking, ‘I stirred not and yet had the power!’
Yearning, ‘Ah God, if again it might be!’
Peace, peace! such a small lamp illumes, on this highway,
So dimly so few steps in front of my feet,—
Yet shows me that her way is parted from my way . . .
Out of sight, beyond light, at what goal may we meet?”
—D. G. Rossetti, The Song of the Bower.
“Jasmin,” said the Vicomte, looking at his retainer in the glass, “does this remind you of the last time you shaved me? If so, please don’t cut me as you did then!”