Have never seen it.”
“How?—this too!” I thought,
“A slight is it?—or triumph that he vaunts?”
He caught my feeling from my fever’d mien,
And words confused and few; and, warming then,
Made answer: “Norman, if I loved you less,
I more might love, and more might spare myself.
The thing my sister wrote, I deemed her whim;
Could not conceive it true, yet can it be?—
I swear, it staggers half one’s faith to find