To earth that hears it.”
“Ah, I take the thought,
You mean my music,” answer’d he. “O God,
To save one’s art must love be sacrificed?—
Redeem’d at that price, art would be too dear!”
LVI.
One thing he promis’d me. I urged it much.
“In secret convent-prayers,” I said to him,
“My soul must know if it should praise or plead.
A year from now, we two must meet once more.