In women to pity rather than to aspire, A little I will speak. I love thee then Not only for thy body packed with sweet Of all this world, that cup of brimming June, That jar of violet wine set in the air, That palest rose sweet in the night of life; Nor for that stirring bosom all besieged By drowsing lovers, or thy perilous hair; Nor for that face that might indeed provoke Invasion of old cities; no, nor all Thy freshness stealing on me like strange sleep/99
Winsor’s hand tightened on Hugh’s arm, and tl two boys stood almost rigid listening to the your voice, which was trembling with emotion, rich wi passion:
“ ‘Not only for this do I love thee, but Because Infinity upon thee broods; And thou are full of whispers and of shadows* Thou meanest what the sea has striven to say So long, and yearned up the cliffs to tell; Thou art what all the winds have uttered not, What the still night suggesteth to the heart. Thy voice is like to music heard ere birth, Some spirit lute touched on a spirit sea; Thy face remembered is from other worlds, It has been died for, though I know not when, It has been sung of, though I know not where/ *
“God,” Winsor whispered, “that’s beautil “Hush. This is the best part.”
