XXII.

The opening of the wondrous tome Was like the opening of a door Into a vast and pictured dome, Crowded, from vaulted roof to floor, With secrets of her life and home.

To be like Philip was to be Another Philip—only less! To win his wit in full degree Would bear to him but nothingness, From one no wiser grown than he!

If blue and red in Hindostan Were blue and red at home, she knew That she—a woman, he—a man, Could never wear the royal hue Till blue and red together ran

In complement of each to each; She might not tint his life at all By learning wisdom he could teach; So what she gave, though poor and small, Should be of that beyond his reach.

Where Philip fed, she would not feed; Where Philip walked, she would not go; The books he read she would not read, But live her separate life, and, so, Have sole supplies to meet his need.

He held his mission and his range; His way and work were all his own; And she would give him in exchange What she could win and she alone, Of life and learning, fresh and strange.