To  speak  the  thoughts  that  swell  and

surge  in  me !
Listen  a  moment,  Doris.  When  I  came
Hither  to  gather  pictures  and  sensations
Among    the    mountains,    and    beside

the  sea,
And  from  dim  caves,  and  from  the

whish  of  pines.
And   lingering   mists,    and   from    the

setting  suns,
That  I   might  write   a   book   which

should  entrance
A   brain-fagged   world,   then    I    was

studying  words
To    trade    on    them.       But    having

lighted  on
My  Helena,  my  Fate,  I  heed  no  more
The  hUls,  the  lochs,   the   caves,  the

forest  trees,
Or  trailing  mists,  or  glory  of  the  sunsets.
Or  curious  felicities  of  speech.
Or    swing    of   rhythmic    phrase,    or

anything
But  just  to  love  thee,  and  to  win  thy

love.
Doris.
There  ;  that's  enough  ;  I  half  believe

you,  though
I  fear  I  should  not  even  half  believe.
I  think  you  love  me  just  a  little.
Tremain.
Doris,
A  little  !  I  am  all,  and  over  all.
Within,  without,  in  heart  and  brain,

afire
With  a  consuming  passion  which  no  sea
Could  quench,  but  it  would  make  its

waves  to  boil
Though  they  were  ribbed  with  ice.
Doris.
You've  studied  well
The  art,  at  least,  how  one  should  play

with  hearts.
Yet  if  I  were  to  prove  your  love  with

some
More  simple  test  than  boiling  seas  of  ice,
It  would  not  much  amaze  me  though

it  failed.
Tremain.
Nay,  put   me   to    the   proof;    and  if

my  life —

Doris.
Pray,  let  your  life  alone ;  men  wager

that
Most  freely,  when   they  least  intend

to  pay.
But  if  you  cared  to  pleasure  me,  you

could.
And    I    coidd    love    the    man    who

pleasured  me
As  I  would  have  him.
Tremain.
