He loves me: he has never understood.
               He loves me as a creature of the flock;
               A little whiter than some others.
               Yes; He loves me, as men love; not to uplift;
               Not to have faith in; not to spiritualize.
               For him I am a woman and a widow
               One of the flock, unmarked save by a brand.
               He said it!—You confess it! You have learnt
               To share his error, erring fatally.

ARDEN: By whose advice went I to him?

ASTRAEA:
                              By whose?
               Pursuit that seemed incessant: persecution.
               Besides, I have changed since then: I change; I change;
               It is too true I change. I could esteem
               You better did you change. And had you heard
               The noble words this morning from the mouth
               Of our professor, changed were you, or raised
               Above love-thoughts, love-talk, and flame and flutter,
               High as eternal snows. What said he else,
               My uncle Homeware?

ARDEN:
                         That you were not free:
               And that he counselled us to use our wits.

ASTRAEA:
               But I am free I free to be ever free!
               My freedom keeps me free! He counselled us?
               I am not one in a conspiracy.
               I scheme no discord with my present life.
               Who does, I cannot look on as my friend.
               Not free? You know me little. Were I chained,
               For liberty I would sell liberty
               To him who helped me to an hour's release.
               But having perfect freedom . . .

ARDEN: No.

ASTRAEA:
               Good sir,
               You check me?

ARDEN: Perfect freedom?

ASTRAEA: Perfect!

ARDEN: No!

ASTRAEA: Am I awake? What blinds me?

ARDEN:
                                   Filaments
               The slenderest ever woven about a brain
               From the brain's mists, by the little sprite called
                    Fancy.
               A breath would scatter them; but that one breath
               Must come of animation. When the heart
               Is as, a frozen sea the brain spins webs.

ASTRAEA:
               'Tis very singular!
               I understand.
               You translate cleverly. I hear in verse
               My uncle Homeware's prose. He has these notions.
               Old men presume to read us.

ARDEN:
               Young men may.
               You gaze on an ideal reflecting you
               Need I say beautiful? Yet it reflects
               Less beauty than the lady whom I love
               Breathes, radiates. Look on yourself in me.
               What harm in gazing? You are this flower
               You are that spirit. But the spirit fed
               With substance of the flower takes all its bloom!
               And where in spirits is the bloom of the flower?

ASTRAEA:
               'Tis very singular. You have a tone
               Quite changed.

ARDEN:
               You wished a change. To show you, how
               I read you . . .

ASTRAEA:
               Oh! no, no. It means dissection.
               I never heard of reading character
               That did not mean dissection. Spare me that.
               I am wilful, violent, capricious, weak,
               Wound in a web of my own spinning-wheel,
               A star-gazer, a riband in the wind . . .

ARDEN:
               A banner in the wind! and me you lead,
               And shall! At least, I follow till I win.

ASTRAEA:
               Forbear, I do beseech you.

ARDEN:
                              I have had
               Your hand in mine.

ASTRAEA:
               Once.

ARDEN:
                              Once!
               Once! 'twas; once, was the heart alive,
               Leaping to break the ice. Oh! once, was aye
               That laughed at frosty May like spring's return.
               Say you are terrorized: you dare not melt.
               You like me; you might love me; but to dare,
               Tasks more than courage. Veneration, friends,
               Self-worship, which is often self-distrust,
               Bar the good way to you, and make a dream
               A fortress and a prison.

ASTRAEA:
                              Changed! you have changed
               Indeed. When you so boldly seized my hand
               It seemed a boyish freak, done boyishly.
               I wondered at Professor Spiral's choice
               Of you for an example, and our hope.
               Now you grow dangerous. You must have thought,
               And some things true you speak-save 'terrorized.'
               It may be flattering to sweet self-love
               To deem me terrorized.—'Tis my own soul,
               My heart, my mind, all that I hold most sacred,
               Not fear of others, bids me walk aloof.
               Who terrorizes me? Who could? Friends? Never!
               The world? as little. Terrorized!

ARDEN:
                              Forgive me.

ASTRAEA:
               I might reply, Respect me. If I loved,
               If I could be so faithless as to love,
               Think you I would not rather noise abroad
               My shame for penitence than let friends dwell