THE SAME CONTINUED <br />We may not meet. I could not for pride's sake <br />Dissemble further, and I suffer pain, <br />A palpable distinct and physical ache, <br />When our eyes meet by accident, and when <br />I hear you talk in your pathetic strain <br />Which always moved me. Only yesterday, <br />As I was standing with a crowd of men <br />In the long corridor, you came my way <br />And chanced to stop, and thus by chance I heard <br />A score of phrases uttered in that sad <br />Half--suppliant voice which once my spirit stirred <br />To its foundations. Yet your theme was glad-- <br />Strangers your hearers. What was in these spells <br />To move me still? A trick, and nothing else!<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-love-sonnets-of-proteus-part-ii-to-juliet-xli/
