Chapter 24 TO M.O.S.

Mary, since first I knew thee, to this hour,

My love hath deepened, with my wiser sense

Of what in Woman is to reverence;

Thy clear heart, fresh as e'er was forest-flower,

Still opens more to me its beauteous dower;-

But let praise hush,-Love asks no evidence

To prove itself well-placed: we know not whence

It gleans the straws