So mild and beautiful, was more than marks
Mere difference between a porcupine
Provok’d and peaceable. The kind was new;
Not human, so angelic. Ay, that soul,
As pure as loving, and as fine as frank,
I half believe to-day, as I did then,
Stood strange amid his comrades of the play
As dogwood, wedded to the skies of spring,
White in a wilderness of wintry pines.
Ah me, could all find all on earth so dear,