I have done it: but how have I done it?
And what's this horrible thing to do with me?
How came it on the ground, here at my feet?
O I had better have shirkt it altogether!
What do I love? Not this; this is only
A message that he left on earth for me,
Signed by his spirit, that he had to go
Upon affairs more worthy than my love.
We women must give place in our men's thoughts
To matters such as those.
God, God, why must I love him? Why
Must life be all one scope for the hawking wings
Of Love, that none the mischief can escape?--
Well, I am thine for always now, my love,
For this has been our wedding. No one else,
Since thee I have had claspt unto my breast,
May touch me lovingly.--
Light, it is light!
What shall I do with it, now I have got it?
O merciful God, must I handle it
Again? I dare not; what is it to me?
Let me off this! Who is it clutches me
By the neck behind? Who has hold of me
Forcing me stoop down? Love, is it thou?
Spare me this service, thou who hast all else
Of my maimed life: why wilt thou be cruel?
O grip me not so fiercely. Love! Ah no,
I will not: 'tis abominable--