Still stood she silent. Then I spoke again:
“But think not, Edith, for my plans alone
I plead with you. I plead, too, for myself;
And tell my plans that you may know myself;
Not holding that I stand above you, friend.
Nay, nay; I oft feel worthy scarce to touch
Your fingers’ tips, or stand erect and taint
The level of the air you breathe in; nay,
I would not judge your life; would only crave,
When we have so much else in sympathy,