And, with my sighs that pride suppress’d,
There rose a trembling wish for rest.
But I, who had my own design
For destiny that should be mine,
I turn’d me to my task and wrought,
And so forgot the passing thought.
She paused; and I who question’d there,
I heard she was as good as fair;
And in my soul a still, small voice
Enjoin’d me not to check my choice.