midnight
Say me that Duddon sonnet you used to say to me there , as you said it to me that last Sunday before our wedding , when we walked up the Shanmoor road to say good-by to that blessed spot . Oh ! how I sit and think of it sometimes , when life seems to be going crookedly , that rock on the fell-side where I found you , and caught you , and snared you , my dove , for ever . ' And Catherine , whose mere voice was as balm to this man of many impulses , repeated to him , softly in the midnight silence , those noble lines in which Wordsworth has expressed , with the reserve and yet the strength of the great poet , the loftiest yearning of the purest hearts -- Enough , if something from our hand have power To live and move , and serve the future hour , And if , as towards the silent tomb we go , Through love , through hope , and faith 's transcendent dower , We feel that we are greater than we know . ` He has divined it all , ' said Robert , drawing a long breath when she stopped , which seem to relax the fibres of the inner man , ` the fever and the fret of human thought , the sense of littleness , of impotence , of evanescence-and he has soothed it all ! ' ` Oh , not all , not all ! ' cried Catherine , her look kindling , and her rare passion breaking through ; ` how little in comparison ! '