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Wilfrid Scawen Blunt - The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part II: To Juliet: XLI
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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!
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