You know no man can flinch it: woman’s grief,
If there be any manhood left in him,
Will rouse his efforts to bespeak her peace—
I found myself her soul’s expositor
To clear the channel of its overflow.
“And when the thought is in one, when it springs,
Why, then, not let it spring? The world is not
So fill’d with thoughts that it can spare our own.
And if we startle folks, jog off the guise
Of their deceit, we spy them as they are.