And when her hand, in dainty kid,
Gave you to me, as n’er before
It fluttered, tried itself to rid
Of fetters that it never wore,
Why trembled she? My eyes would pour
My love in hers—why did she so?
Was it because she hates me, or—
She loves me—rose, you tell me so.
L’ENVOY
Rose, come you not ambassador