He seems to do his pleasure; but a foe,—
Who does not shrink to feel him near enough
To freeze one with a chill though duteous touch?
Mere duty forms the body-part of love:
Let love be present, and this body seems
The fitting vestment of a finer life:
Let love be gone, it leaves a hideous corpse!
Pauline, I crave the life, I crave the soul:
Would you content me with a skeleton?
“I ‘meant’ your ‘sister’? Why?—who named her?—I?—