And our spirits rush'd together at the touching of the lips.
O my cousin, shallow hearted! O my Amy, mine no more,
O the dreary, dreary moorland! O the barren, barren shore!
Falser than all fancy fathoms, falser than all songs have sung,
Puppet to a father's threat, and servile to a shrewish tongue!
Is it well to wish thee happy? having known me—to decline
On a range of lower feelings and a narrower heart than mine!
Yet it shall be: thou shall lower to his level day by day,
What is fine within thee growing coarse to sympathise with clay.
As the husband is, the wife is: thou art mated with a clown,