The colors come right pretty, but—there, there—
“What say?—I ‘dare not face’ you now?—Those eyes,
Too bright, are they? or loving? Love, like God,
So brightly dear is it, that lives like ours,
Poor vapory lives, mere dews before the dawn,
Dare not to face it lest we melt away?—
Then be it so. Then look, Pauline, I dare
Am I not yours? Should you not use your own?—
Ay, darling, draw me all within yourself.”