The Love Sonnets of Proteus. Part II: to Juliet: Xli
THE SAME CONTINUED
We may not meet. I could not for pride’s sake
Dissemble further, and I suffer pain,
A palpable distinct and physical ache,
When our eyes meet by accident, and when
I hear you talk in your pathetic strain
Which always moved me. Only yesterday,
As I was standing with a crowd of men
In the long corridor, you came my way
And chanced to stop, and thus by chance I heard
A score of phrases uttered in that sad
Half—suppliant voice which once my spirit stirred
To its foundations. Yet your theme was glad—
Strangers your hearers. What was in these spells
To move me still? A trick, and nothing else!
